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.