There you are, looking at me from the mirror, as far as always. I say goodbye to you, throwing an air kiss, praying to some god I do not believe in, to be able to feel your skin someday. I know that you say goodbye to me too with a smile, waiting to see us in the mirror where we arranged to meet everyday since school started. I leave for high school, muttering about yesterday's lesson and hoping the bus won't arrive too late, so I can see your face before the first siren rings.
They take us on an excursion to see the colleges, the nearest to our high school and the most chosen by the students. As soon as they give us five minutes of freedom, I go to the toilets. I go there only to see if it has mirrors, and I see that you think the same. I see you there, on the other side and I sigh with relief, I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you until I arrived home and you would be so disappointed that you wouldn't want to see me again.
Watching houses, the first thing I think is that they have good walls in order to put huge mirrors that allow me to see how you move with grace. I'm sure that I have to order them, to cover up almost all the wall. Today I have seen a flat in the downtown which probably pleased you too, when I come back to my parents’ house it´ll be the first thing that I ask you. I ́m excited. Our home, only for us. When I arrive home, mom and dad intercept me before I can say hi. They tell me that I have a problem, that I have to go with them to the psychologist and that in fact you don't exist.
At the beginning I couldn't believe what they were telling me. You exist and you are as real as them, as me. The difference is that you are behind that damned cristal which makes it impossible for me to touch you, hug you and kiss you. They tell me that they have taken an appointment with a doctor that will help me. Barely did they let me see you in order to tell you everything that happened. Soon after, they come into my bedroom and they take away my most precious, my way to get in touch with you. They cover the mirror of the bathroom too, leaving this house without anything that reflects other realities.
They put me in front of a mirror, they tell me in order to see if the treatment is progressing. You aren't already there, it's me, with my bags under my eyes, my pimples and my broken brow. And I can't do anything else but cry. For not seeing you, for not being able to help you if something happens to you, for not knowing why aren't you there, on the other side, to welcome me after so long apart. And for the first time in a long time, I see that I'm nothing, no one, and that my life has no sense.
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