I have a mirror that shows the future. Well, not the future, just the future me. But it’s not always the same, my future self changes based on decisions I make, or could make. I don’t know, it’s confusing. What I do know is that my mirror is magic. It must be. What else could show a version of me that’s aged twenty years? I found it in a little antique shop. Everyone else walked past without a second glance. Maybe they didn’t notice. Or maybe it only works for me. Maybe everyone has a different mirror to show their future self. Who knows? When I walked past it, a streak of grey walked beside me. Enough to stop me in my tracks but not enough to worry me initially. After all, I know other 46 year olds with hair turned grey from stress. A closer inspection of the woman in the mirror revealed wrinkles that I couldn’t feel and a knitted pink cardigan that I didn’t own. At first I just stared. It took a minute for my brain to process that this was me I was seeing. Me but not me. Me but older. Ever since that first glimpse I couldn’t help myself. I’d look every day. Sometimes it would only change a little bit; my cardigan would be blue instead of pink. Other times I would marvel at how one tiny decision could affect my future appearance entirely. One day I’d decided to try different makeup based on the advice of a friend. When I looked in the mirror that afternoon, the woman’s wrinkles were barely visible through her foundation. Her hair was freshly curled and her lips were a perfect red. She wore a dress instead of jeans. Another day, I’d had one too many to drink. I looked through my blurry eyes at a rather dishevelled version of myself. The grey hair had not been brushed and the bags under the eyes suggested a major lack of sleep. Of all the versions of myself I had seen. This one was the most pitiful. And I was certain I would not let the run down woman in the mirror be me. On a rainy afternoon in October I’d left a candle lit in the sitting room. It was only as my head hit the pillow that I’d remembered. I rushed downstairs past the mirror, only this time, no one rushed alongside me. The mirror was empty and I was terrified. So scared of what it might mean that I almost forgot my candle. If I wasn’t in the mirror where was I? I pondered it as I took the last few steps to my candle and blew it out. Returning to my bedroom, I couldn’t help but look into the mirror again, and there she was. The woman in the mirror smiled the same smile of relief as I did. The candle, it seems, would’ve been the culprit for my absence in the future. Everyday I watch the woman in the mirror. And everyday she smiles. Because when she’s there I know I’ve blown out all my candles and tomorrow is already promised to me.