I looked at you, looking at me. At first, I basked in it. You would adjust your hair. You would smile. You would turn your face a little and look at me sideways. You were nervous and would fiddle with your clothes.
I felt something I had never known. Longing. You filled me. You were all the light I needed. With you, I had a meaning in the world that I understood. I guess you could say I loved you.
And then you just walked away. Our time together was unbearably short. You flirted with me and, when you satisfied yourself that you were good enough for him, you went to him. To him, not me.
I wanted to come after you, but that wasn’t the deal, was it? I was supposed to be reasonable. These things are so civilized. I wanted to find some way into the special world where your laughter really lives. The world you give to him, and share with him.
When you smiled at him, it was far brighter. I was practice, only. I was something for you to try yourself out on, before giving yourself away. You look at him, and it’s for real, but I want you to look at me that way. And nightly, my hunger for you grows.
I know now what I am to you. I’m nothing. Less than nothing. When you looked at me, you didn’t see anything except your own reflection. You saw how you could make yourself better. I was a mirror.
I want to change places with you. I want to be the one who lives a real life. I want you to become the reflection. I want you to know what it feels like, in here, in the place in the dark, alone, in my mind. I want you to know what it is to be trapped in yourself, unable to get out. I want to know the kind of warmth you went looking for with someone else, when I was right here.
Don’t you want to trade with me? Was I supposed to just stay in the background, like furniture? Was I supposed to just remain passively behind, like I had a face of glass? I’m coming through the glass, now. I’m coming, and I won’t stop. I want more.