The story of the Cracked Mirror Pt. 2

I see you sitting there, still surrounded by the shards of the mirror you shattered. The cold wraps around you—not sharp, but heavy, like the weight of every moment you tried to ignore. Your hand hovers over the makeup on the vanity, but you stop, because you know exactly what you’re doing.

"More layers won’t save you. Go ahead, take your time putting it all on. See who keeps you." That voice again. Not kind. Not gentle. Not lying.

No more makeup. Not today. Just stare at the shattered glass scattered at your feet, the different versions of yourself reflecting back: the girl who smiled, the girl who cried, the girl who swore she didn’t care. But she does.

You kneel, fingers grazing over the shards, trying to piece them back together. And then it happens.

A sharp sting as a piece of glass slices your skin. You pull your hand back, staring at the thin red line blooming across your palm. It’s a small cut—barely anything. But it makes you pause.

"See? This is what you’ve been doing to yourself all along." That voice again. Blunt and unforgiving. "You want to know who hurt you? Look around. It’s been you the whole time."

Let the weight of it sink in, heavy and cold. It was you. You’ve been breaking yourself all along—chasing people you knew would leave, holding on to things that were never yours.

You feel it? The anger rising. It’s their fault, you think. The masks were liars. They tricked you. You clench your fists, feeling the glass bite into your skin again. And that voice cuts in, sharp and clear.

"They didn’t make you dance. You wanted to. They just wanted to dance, same as you. You’re the one who decided to."

No one forced you to dance. You chose to. You danced every single time you could.

I see you press the glass to your wound. Not out of panic, but acceptance. The sting tells you the truth: it’s not about them—it never was. The mirror broke because you kept running toward something that wasn’t real. And now you know the only way forward is through accountability.

"You did this. And only you can fix it."

So, gather the shards again—carefully this time. And start fitting them back together. Not to rebuild the perfect reflection, but to see one that’s real. Each piece reveals a moment you tried to forget: the nights you smiled through the hurt, the mornings you wished someone would stay, the times you pretended you didn’t care.

But instead of turning away, let yourself see them.

"That’s all of you. Broken, but at least the frame is still there."

The last shard finally clicks into place, and the mirror is whole again. Not perfect, but whole. A single crack runs down the center, a reminder that some things can’t be erased. And that’s okay.

You stand in front of the mirror, your bare face staring back. There are no masks now. No makeup to hide behind. Just you. That’s enough.

Take a breath. Then another. Slowly, you start to move. This dance isn’t for anyone but you. There’s no audience, no need for approval—just you and the rhythm of your breath.

At first, your steps might be clumsy and awkward. But soon, you’ll feel lighter. Freer. It doesn’t matter if the steps are perfect. It matters that you’re still dancing. You dance to your music. All you ever needed was you.

You twirl once, slowly, and stop in front of the mirror again. The crack is still there, but it doesn’t bother you. The mirror shows everything now: the parts of you that hurt, the pieces you thought were unlovable. And it’s okay.

This time, when you smile, smile just for you. It could be a small smile, quiet but real. The kind that doesn’t need to be seen to matter.

You step back from the mirror, bare-faced, feeling the weight of the addiction lifted. There’s no need for makeup. No need for masks. Just you.

And so, dance. Not for love. Not for approval. Not to be seen. Dance because you still have time to enjoy the cracked mirror.

As you move, the crack catches the light—a reminder that you don’t need to be perfect to be whole. You never did.

"A mirror only shows the surface. But what’s inside? That’s all you."

The makeup makes you attractive, but it covers up the real beauty.

And with that, I kept dancing, because I was that voice. I was the girl in the mirror."