Beautiful Spy
Spy on me, but remember that I stand before a mirror. I drink my own water from my own sink, even if the experts suggest otherwise. It tastes fine to me, and I can trust it.
So, spy on me, but know I can see through the distortion of my morning glass.
An eye peeled and laid out around the outer edge of the glass. Rosy skin stretched and pulled but still beautiful.
A beautiful spy sounds like Hollywood’s dream, but do not mistake my imagination for my permission. A hand on the waist is endearingly dreadful, an easy betrayal of your own deception.
Your stealth is belied by the digital. Why spy on me here when there are countless other worlds in which you could do the same?
In those worlds, your face is perfect.
Undistorted, yet somehow less beautiful in the wake of your return to this very spot.
The mirror.
It often captures me and me alone, so I am not yet used to the company. This arrangement feeds the very same system that keeps your hand in its very same position, and starves the many outreaching hands I pass on the street on my way home each day. Today, I brushed up against one hand, and its owner called me “ma’am.”
I remember the grocery store clerk calling my mother that. But he was a boy and he was nervous and his hand would probably be on my waist right now as well, only wobbling ever so slightly. That grocery store clerk once called me “gorgeous” when my mother wasn’t around, and I blushed.
“That’s so sweet,” I told him. “Thank you.” It was a confidence-booster, for me. The next time I saw him in the store he glanced at me but looked away before we could risk locking eyes. What if he were to spy on me? Would I allow it? May he stand before the mirror? Behind it? Where does he stand, he who turns mirror to window, and window to mirror? That transition remains the eroding of my regret.
Compliments are empty. You call me “beautiful” but your hand injects the word with grit. I ignore it now, and I’m sure it hurts. I am sorry, but a response is a risk I cannot afford.
And even in front of this mirror, I don’t see myself anywhere. I look for you, the spy, and you remain.
Spy on me somewhere else. Let me know what you find.