The bustling city street was a kaleidoscope of faces, each one a fleeting glimpse of a story untold. Anya, a sculptor by trade, often found herself observing people, not for their clothes or their hurried expressions, but for the elusive spark she believed lay beneath the surface. She carried with her a worn print of the poem "Mis Identity", its words a constant whisper in her mind: "when you look at this body and think you see me you are mistaken". She remembered a time when she’d spent hours perfecting a self-portrait, convinced that capturing every curve and shadow of her face would reveal her true self. But the finished piece, though technically flawless, felt hollow. It was then she truly understood: "when you look in the mirror and think you see you you are mistaken again". Her reflection, a mere arrangement of features, couldn't hold the laughter she shared, the quiet sorrow she nursed, or the wild dreams she chased. One afternoon, in her studio, a new client arrived – a woman named Lena. Lena was impeccably dressed, her features sharp and angular, her demeanor reserved. Anya, initially, saw only the elegant facade. But as they spoke, discussing the subtle nuances of Lena’s desired sculpture, Anya began to listen differently. Lena spoke of her passion for overlooked histories, her quiet work with marginalized communities, and a profound vulnerability hidden beneath her polished exterior. Anya realized then the poem’s stark truth: "when we search for beauty and do not see each other we are both victims of mistaken identity". She had almost fallen into the trap, judging Lena by the "body" and the external presentation, missing the profound "beauty" of her spirit. The sculpture Anya created for Lena was not a literal rendering of her face. Instead, it was an abstract piece, flowing with the quiet strength and unseen depths Anya had discovered. Lena, upon seeing it, wept. "You saw me," she whispered, touching the cool bronze. In that moment, Anya understood that true beauty wasn't in the mirror's reflection, nor in the first glance. It was in the act of truly seeing, truly listening, and allowing the essence of another, and indeed, of oneself, to Glisten. Only then could the "mistaken identity" begin to fade.