the haunted reflection

Some gazes linger.

I noticed it the first time because it didn’t move when I did.
Not completely. Just enough delay to feel intentional. I leaned closer, studying the glass the way you do when you expect a flaw — a smudge, a crack, an explanation. But the surface was clean. Too clean.
The reflection looked like me. That was the problem. It didn’t feel like it was trying to imitate me. It felt like it was waiting.

There is only room for one.