I am standing in a room of mirrors. One before me, one behind.
All I can see is me.
But the mirrors are perfectly centered, perfectly positioned across from each other, and time stretches long between them.
I stare at the mirror.
All I can see is you.
The mirror in front of me is cloudy. Smudged, as if I had just taken a shower and wiped a hand through the steam collected across my face before me. My reflection is marred; it hurts to look at.
I exist too heavily in that moment.
I can’t see her at all.
I don’t like that I don’t know what she looks like, I don’t like that I don’t know who she is. I am afraid of her. I am afraid because she is not me, no matter how similar the shade of our hair is.
I cannot bear to witness the reflections pouring out infinitely before me, so I turn around, instead.
I turn, and I disappear, and all I can see is you.
So clearly standing behind me, as you always have.
It hurts to look at you too, but not for the same reason. I am not afraid of you. At least, not anymore.
I love you, and I pity you; I care for you, and you force me into my nostalgia, but I am not afraid of your glowering gaze.
I am sorry for you. I am sorry that you can’t see me at all.
I know that staring at me, all you can see is your own blurred form. I know that you are afraid of me, but I wish you weren’t. I wish you could see me as clearly as I see you.
You will never be able to. Just as I will never be able to glimpse the girl ahead of me.
We are all stuck in our own mirrored room.
We are all stuck in the same mirrored room.
The three of us—you, and me, and her—will never escape our glass lives. I will be here forever; you will be there forever. She will always be blurred by shower mist in front of my gaze.
You are glowering at me; I am afraid of her. She is pitying me; I am sorry for you.
We stand, staring back and forth, in our mirrored dreams, and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that you’re afraid; you don’t need to be. I’m sorry that you’ll never escape the cage you happened upon in time; I’m much happier here.
You will never know me, but I have known you all my life.
I will never know her, but she has been witnessing my clear reflection since the beginning of time.
The three of us exist in sorrow. Nostalgic, joyful, hopeful and wishing, loving and afraid of each other.
I look at you, and universes bloom in the space between our eyes.
Worlds are born and die, empires rise and fall, space expands and collapses, but time continues its ever-steady march on. Holding us three—alone together, trapped in our mirrored coffins, sobbing and laughing and living side by side but never touching—for eternity.
