What Stares Back

When my eyes meet the silvered pane,
sometimes the face is foreign,
other times a familiar ally offers a wry nod.

I glimpse the boy who once outran the dawn,
sun-scorched and salt-worn from endless miles,
his frame steeled by burdens not his to bear.

There’s that sly spark of cocky glee in his eyes,
the echo of laughter and “can you believe I managed that?”
and a wrinkle or two earned from years of squinting at horizons.

I catch the weight he carries, the silent endurance,
a heart that learns kindness only after regret,
hands that could still reach out more often.

Yet with each silver line, with each sun-etched line,
I find a growing fondness for this complicated soul.

In the mirror’s quiet wisdom I discover
we are both question and answer,
forever learning to become our own reflection.