Narcissus

I saw you crying once. 

Outside of the bedroom late at night.
We had washed up after a party and dragged in the same old, bitter fight. 

Who was I to you? Why couldn’t you show?

So here we are:
You on the livingroom floor.
Me, peering through a crack in the bedroom I wished wasn’t ours. A hallway of mirrors fall between us and we cannot reach each other through our own reflection.
We would only see ourselves.

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