Discover more from Bogdan’s Essays
Where’s your ring, honey? Forgive me; I can be a bit prudish sometimes. You did just casually forget it, among other unimportant things. Why is it slipping off our fingers when we try to hold hands — rarely? I don’t know if it fits anymore. Your world grew, and in this new world, there might not be a place for small pieces of silver. Metal and metallic sounds are everywhere, but they lack the shine.
Why are you leaving me here? Did I do something wrong? Or what is it I didn’t do right? A lot of things pour over my mind. You wash away my footsteps and echos faster than they appear.
I’m facing a mirror. In this room, there is space only for one person and one mirror. I say things, and you throw them back at me.
How do you unwrap yourself from this? Or do you pretend that the imaginary walls between us are what defines us? You escape by convincing yourself your walls have a reason to exist. My walls are just mirrors. They’re fragile, but they’re watching. They’re playing tricks on me.
They weren’t there before.
Are we checking out — together — before I have to?
I’m tired of touching all the edges, trying to feel if you are next to me.