One Side of the Looking Glass

He can see her there, standing just on the other side of the glass. She's next to him, of course, there but not here. He can reach out with a hand and touch her shoulder. She smiles at him. Warm. Affectionate. But also sad. Because he is not truly there. Only here. He can touch her, but he cannot feel her.

"Hello," he says to her, as he always does. They learned long ago that she cannot hear him, nor he her. But they have learned to read lips. He sees her mouth move in response, her lips forming the word, Hi. But it is silent on this side of the glass, just as it always has been.

He knows little about her world. It's not like his own, despite the reflection. He can see only her but nothing else. It is an enigma he would dearly love to solve. He would give anything to pass through that barrier to be with her.

Her mouth forms words again, as he knows they must, as they have so many times before. I have to go, she says. She turns and slowly fades away, leaving only his own reflection and aching heart.