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Whispers, warmth, and the things that could make life glow. |
The Reflection in the Rain —by Tee M. She sat quietly, her hands folded, her gaze fixed on the window where raindrops traced silver rivers down the glass. Outside, the storm raged, thunder rolling like the voice of an old god, lightning splitting the sky with unrelenting fire. But it wasn’t the storm that held her. It was what stared back at her. Through the veil of rain, her reflection appeared—yet not entirely her own. A face emerged, ghostly and softened by the storm’s blur, eyes searching, lips unspoken. Was it simply the play of shadow and storm light? Or was it something more—the echo of herself that she kept hidden, the soul she only met in moments of solitude? In that instant, she wondered: Was she looking out into the storm, or was the storm looking back into her? Perhaps the truth is this: when the world outside grows wild, the mirror within begins to speak. And in the silence between the thunder, she realized the reflection was not a stranger at all. It was her truest self, waiting patiently for her to see it. Sometimes, it takes a storm to recognize who you are and to hear the voice of your own reflection.  |
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