mirrored

"why do i still see you in every mirrored window,
in all that i could never overcome?"

i took your clothes out of a cardboard box in the corner of the garage (a place i hoped i would forget about, but never did). i put on your underwear, i put on your khakis, i put on one of your faded t-shirts and those old shoes that got so ripped, old shoes where i once marked my territory with a red sharpie and an asymmetrical heart. i pulled my hair up and away from my eyes, i wished they were blue.

remember that chair we bought together? a musty yellow, velvet rough with rain and time, full of holes. you said: "this chair is unlovable, let's make it ours, let's fix it up and give it a home."

and it was in this chair (our chair) that i sat now, in the corner of my room, diagonal across the right angle. with one mirror leaned against the wall to my right, and one to the left. my reflection caught between them, half of me reflected over and over, endless. i don't know about fate besides the one i hope for. in my corner between mirrors, i can close my eyes, i can orchestrate.

and so i closed my eyes, i faced forward, i lowered my voice and spoke: "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry. i'm sorry that i always move up and i always move on and things become great for me in some new way. i'm sorry i left you, i'm sorry that i didn't stop it, or hold on tighter. thank you for loving the chair i left behind. thank you for hating me for it. i'm sorry i left you, it wasn't your fault, you were perfect the whole time and you still are."

i unbuttoned your button, i unzipped your fly, i put my hands down your pants and i touched myself, dry and unloved. and the blinking lights of an airplane flew past my window, all those people over me, maybe over you somewhere, depending. all those people over me, not knowing. not seeing me being you being me, caught between mirrors, reflecting.