I squint to take a closer look

At the black figure that stands across from me.

He or she reads me like a book

As I jump back from the familiar face.

I step closer,

The figure imitating my motions

As if I’m his or her composer

And the figure is giving me notions.

Now I can outline its face

And I can tell that she is a girl.

She looks like she is misplaced

And about to hurl,

Just like me.

As I get closer in this dark room,

She looks even more familiar.

She’s making me presume

That she was me all along

Even though a little unfamiliar.

I raise my hand

She raises her’s.

It feels like we’re far apart, from different lands,

My hand touches her’s.

Her hand feels flat and cold

Made of stone,

And a little old.

She is my clone.

I realize that she’s just a mirror,

Of a reflection of me.

But I felt nearer.

There is a big difference between her and me though,

She seemed very lonely

And trapped inside.

I open my eyes, and she was still there,

But she was full of joy like I was.

But the mirror was gone,

I felt colder and made of stone,

And trapped inside with sorrow.