Dark Reflection by Grace Quon

I stare in the mirror. You’re gone again. I brush my hair by feel, but don’t dare to attempt makeup.

I search for you all day. Windows, puddles, the polished cutlery at Chez Henri: they look right through me.

At night, I say a prayer to someone, anyone, and turn on the bathroom light. And there you are in the glass, cool and elegant in a tight black dress I don’t own. Sticky red teeth, dirt under your nails. Something killed, something buried. You put a finger to your lips and wink.

Tears run down my cheeks, but not yours.