You see yourself in a mirror. Foggy and blurry with the grime of age and self-cynical deceit. The reflection grimaces back at you, mocking you with its very presence. That crooked smile, unruly hair…and underneath. Underneath. The failings and flaws, the can’t-dos and will-nevers. The worries and struggles, to be future realities. The light in the room is dim. Barely there. It flickers every once in awhile, but it’s hard to notice. Not with that…thing in front of you.
I stand on the other side and see you through a mirror, but you can’t see. You can’t see. I can watch you, you know. And I know what I’m looking at. Clean and refined, cutest dimples and twinkling eyes. Smart and determined, loving and kind. You have a soul of gold. You can do anything you put your mind to, even down to wiping away a smudge on the mirror, bringing out what I see from the other side. I’ve watched it once or twice before. That deft finger coming up to the glass after the light in the room flickers, brightens. You hesitate. Once. Twice. Then swipe. Away another small bit of the grime.
It hurts sometimes, all that foggy blur of insecurities. It reaches out to me and pinches my arm, bringing back to reality my fanciful dreams and wishes. Maybe you like it that way, dirt and all. Perhaps my attempt (from the other side) to wipe it clean, is futile.
All I want
is for you to see
what I see.