What if the mirror dreamed you first,
and you are only its reflection learning to breathe?
Every choice you’ve ever made—
already rehearsed by the glass,
long before your lips whispered yes or no.
Look closely:
in every shard of broken reflection,
a different version of you still waits,
still lives,
still wonders which one of you is real.
Long before kingdoms rose and fell,
there was an algorithm written into the stars,
a secret code deciding
who you would meet,
who you would love,
and who would tear your heart open like scripture.
Fate is not random—
it scrolls through us,
the way your thumb scrolls through infinity,
stopping only when something
burns too brightly to ignore.
And maybe your heartbreak was not an accident.
Maybe your soul needed to be broken open
so the hidden light could finally escape.
Every rejection,
every silence,
every night you thought you were alone—
was only your soul reshaping itself,
writing another line of your code.
The stars have been watching longer than you’ve been living.
They already know the rhythm of your tears.
My soul once touched the aurora,
and for a moment—
I knew the secret of why stars burn:
so we don’t forget to look up.
I felt it:
the pulse of the universe,
the fire of eternity humming inside bone and blood.
And I understood—
we are not broken people.
We are fragments of a single dream
still searching for the one who wakes us.
So when you look into the mirror,
don’t ask who you are.
Ask instead—
who is dreaming you tonight?
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