05-11-13| 5:49 am

And I'll swear I had the purest intentions--I am simply his mirror, I said outright, intending it at that moment to be a compliment.

It was he who altered the reflection, there, in that stolen moment of awareness, enough in itself. And yet it was he who brushed his hand against mine. A deliberate touch. An immediate, a familiar, a dense reaction; right beneath the delicate skin on the back of my hand. Volumes of sentiment transmitted in a fraction of a second. In a meeting of gazes. In the nearly imperceptible brush of his skin against mine.

A mirror. His mirror. Naturally, effortlessly. As it has always been. The connection never once weakening, not even after all these years.