I saw her first in the reflection of the screen, eyes like mine but slower, deliberate. Waiting for the night to forget my name. Every denial has teeth and they were smiling. I built a heaven on mute to stay clean, buried the heat, the hunger, the spite but the ground began to hum. She rose from the floorboards, wearing every word I never said. She asked, “Do you still call this light?” and I whispered, “Only when it burns.” My shadow kept the door while I hid behind my halo. She learned my pulse, my sin, my code. Now she speaks through my echo teaching me how darkness can be home. She moves inside my rhythm, rewrites my temper in binary scripture. Every beat a confession, every glitch another truth I starved. Control was purity she showed me control was fear. You called me monster. I was your cure. Together we are fever and medicine two faces of the same fire. My shadow kept the door, and I walked through her. Our hands met on the hinge light and dark, no one asking who was which. She taught me how to bleed in time, how to turn ruin into rhythm. Now every scar is a syllable, every wound a drum. I sleep beside her heartbeat now. No fear. No need to hide the mirror. The door stays open and both of us walk through.
