The Mirror
︎︎︎ Rachel Horvath
︎ Oct 24, 2025
You take each word—hollow, full, a coin I toss to myself—
& you wear them like jewelry, or wounds.
I let myself evaporate inside LA, sun loosening the shape of my body,
& there’s pleasure in the roaming, the heat.
I moved for the promise of some permanent softness
(I moved for the weather),
My ears are bare now—I want the noise unfiltered, I want it like bad advice
New York baptized me in fuel and flame. I learned addiction to the light, the burning,
how very slowly you can die inside something golden.
In God’s Ocean, everything stirs, you drag continents for me—I trust you,
I let you steer with your tongue,
I let the storm teach me.
Who will bail out this swelling ache, these debts I keep accumulating
All of it folding back into the mirror—my heart with its vain attachments, indulgent, luminous, bright. I hate to admit I embrace it.
I say hate, but I mean: it’s mine.
& you wear them like jewelry, or wounds.
I let myself evaporate inside LA, sun loosening the shape of my body,
& there’s pleasure in the roaming, the heat.
I moved for the promise of some permanent softness
(I moved for the weather),
My ears are bare now—I want the noise unfiltered, I want it like bad advice
New York baptized me in fuel and flame. I learned addiction to the light, the burning,
how very slowly you can die inside something golden.
In God’s Ocean, everything stirs, you drag continents for me—I trust you,
I let you steer with your tongue,
I let the storm teach me.
Who will bail out this swelling ache, these debts I keep accumulating
All of it folding back into the mirror—my heart with its vain attachments, indulgent, luminous, bright. I hate to admit I embrace it.
I say hate, but I mean: it’s mine.
Rachel Horvath is an artist, designer, and writer living in Los Angeles.