The cracked mirror in the corner of the room holds the image of a gloomy face. Small shards that bounce faintly, like memories that are hard to escape.
Every crack holds a story, about a wound that is slowly healing. There are tears trapped there, in silence that swallows all sound. In a mirror that is no longer intact, you reflect your fragile self.

But in every broken piece of you that is opened, there is strength in accepting the wound.
You taught me the meaning of sincerity, in your cracks that don't seek perfection. Because life is not about looking beautiful, but accepting cracks as part of grace.