“A chair is still a chair, even when there’s no one sittin’ there 
But a chair is not a house and a house is not a home 
When there’s no one there to hold you tight 
And no one there you can kiss good night 

A room is still a room, even when there’s nothin’ there but gloom 
But a room is not a house and a house is not a home 
When the two of us are far apart 
And one of us has a broken heart 
Now and then I call your name 
And suddenly your face appears 
But it’s just a crazy game 
When it ends, it ends in tears”—
Luther Vandross, “A House is not a Home” lyrics 

    The mirror looked at me and knew my troubles. It said my troubles would end but I don’t know if they have or haven’t yet. Sometimes I look at the reflection and the troubles are done. Other times it feels like they are starting all over again. 
       Maybe the mirror is the place where the prophets and the saints live. 
Most saints and prophets start off as sinners and I never knew a saint or prophet who didn’t suffer. Everyone suffers but I suppose it’s what a person does with it or doesn’t do that makes them ‘special’. This show isn’t about God or angels or anything religious. Most things and people aren’t significant until it is over and this is the end; this is one of my many endings.
    I spent time in mirrors and I wondered when I leave will a part of me stay willingly or be stuck? No,  ‘stuck’ is a dreadful word. 
         It is similar to ‘ dead Daughter.’ 
      It comes back to rooms but there isn’t a clear connection. There’s a saint and a prophet in the mirror who aren’t stuck. They don’t even understand why I used that word to describe my situation. It is a feeling not a fact. 
     In the mirrors I can stretch my face and cut off my tongue. It’ll grow back but outside of the mirror I have no magic tricks and I’m sad. I can’t even talk to the Prophet  and Saint outside of the mirror. 
    No matter where I place the mirror they’ll be there and the different stages of me are there too but outside of the mirror sometimes I don’t know.