Robin Camille Davis
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April 25, 2010
Tags: poetry

She touched ice and was bruised. To watch she must pause, and so what she caught was never the truth — the woman panting, dancing, weeping — it was only the woman who paused. The mirror was always one breath too late to catch the breathing.

Under a Glass Bell by Anaïs Nin, 1944

(Probably the best passage about a mirror I have read.)