Mirrors (Literary Pop #4)



You aren’t just some thing, or even some one: a lone speck of beauty caught in my periphery. I can’t help it. I noticed you. With some unfounded admiration, I saw that inverted version of myself refracted, shocked and in love, felt my heart beat hot in your pulse. An involuntary falling down. A fluttering of wings unaccustomed to wind. The foolish romance of it all.

At the right time of day, there is no separation between the sky and the ocean.

Maybe you felt it too. Or maybe you felt alone. If the glare of crashing light obscures my outline, you aren’t trying hard enough. I’m parallel your eyelids, right on the other side, at the horizon point, somehow worlds away.


I was hooked from the beginning, was pulled into your orbit with a force, and afterwards, as if pushed by astroids broke to blindness. Left in my wake, all sense and senses – my soul in the pocket of the coat you were wearing when we met. Crumpled there, sensation memories: the sound of radio static, the taste of strong coffee, the softness of cotton on skin. And maybe I trust you with them, but more likely it’s faith.

I don’t know why I mention it. It wouldn’t matter either way.

Is there something sinister in that, like glass, I was afraid to break you? Numbers and numbers of funhouse mirrors. If I touch the distorted edges, I’m cut and again; I’ve reached too deep yet not deep enough to unearth you. Despite it, I love the feeling of grasping at stars. Past and present, still searching the depths and waves of sunkissed clouds. The fruit floats upwards the further I sink; you’re drifting away and I’ve been falling all this time.


You were some one or something else, and unique in the way that couldn’t be eclipsed by any simple spell of a passerby. That full personhood – not just a small sample taken once to be politely discarded. I could never help it, and staring was only ever an attempt to drink up as much as I could at once, gorge myself for fear you’d evaporate into the sky, to be rained down, swam in, and drank by millions of others.

At the right time of night, there is no distinction between the sea and the stars.


And staring? It was simply a sickness and selfishness, because I saw something impossible there, in your pupils: a darkness, a deliberateness, a truth.

I have this photograph engrained in my head, you and I with fingers intertwined, glass encased cutouts with plastic stock photo smiles. I would take you anywhere, to the moon, if you’d like, but not to heaven – not yet. My soul in your pocket, after all this time. Radiating, maybe poisoning you, now, is that what you want? I’ve been trying, pulling you through the eye of a needle, particle by particle, and you’re hardly here at all. This inertia will kill us both.

Move for me, if you can, find strength. I’m begging.


Despite it all, a man can’t bare to lose. I have before, and I lost you fast and hard. You fell from my arms and took my shadow down with you. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself anymore – only a half glimmer, a cut between universes where you should be.

I prefer the grit of lakes and their green dwelling monsters, and you floating in sunlight, through clouds, looking back at me with unlocked eyes. Anything but this.


I’ve always thought my heart to be a house, full of vacant chambers, guest rooms clad with blandly papered walls and pictures of seasides in sepia. White bath towels folded neatly but without the chaos associated normally with passion, folded and folded and folded into neat towers. You were never in there. You are its entirety – the flesh and beating arteries inside my chest, every damn valve.

I need you to show me; I need you to fight and be strong. Before – just ask me. It was never hard coming back to you, and I had figured only as much as I believed – different from knowing, but still, it was elementary. That you were just, and just even in absence a moving beacon, shedding heat, building labrynths between and around us, soaring through the screens of sleep as I tried to find you, again and again and again.


Right now, are you here? Nod your head for me. I’m only seeing me in you; if you leave I’m stunted and faded, or perhaps I already am. I won’t grow and I can’t. We made this promise together. Two reflections don’t make one, are better than one, cannot dissolve into a singular being save for the rarest moments. Keep looking at me. Wake up.

And wake up again. Everything that’s led to this point are histories preserved in my hippocampus, memories contaminated by the lure of daydreams. Slanted options. Frightened tomorrows, not even mapped, ink that spilled one dreaded mystery onto the feilds of morning. All I can see through it is you staring upwards. Keep your eyes. Right here. Keep your eyes, open up. Wake up.

You are the love of my life.


Reflections don’t leave, are not bound to glass and minds alone, waver deftly under the skin of all things touched. All I see, a shock of cold at my core, all I do, a blow to the head, or a whisper. All I see, then, is you. All I do, the reason.

At the wrong time, the ocean and the heavens have light years between them.

You are the love of my life.

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