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Sidney

The day before you died, I remember you asking:

We promised on forever. Will I see you again?

I used to think without you hearing all of it in my dreams.

Whenever I wake I lose you all over again.

And the thing about death is that you think it could never happen to you.

Not yet, not now.

But I find myself wondering if Sidney thought the same.

The final hours we had before she died, she told me about her future.

Her and I would still be living, just on opposite ends of the mirror.

In me, I would see her. I would slowly lose myself.

And when I’d begin to forget her, that’s when I will reappear in the glass.

Dear Sidney,

You owned every wonder before everything sad kissed what happiness was.

The way you smiled would light up every room.

It still does. Through photographs of you, we smile. Together.

To forget your voice is bittersweet evidence of how lucky I was to have known you.

I knew that when you died, you had promised to visit me.

We’d grow old together. Forever was in your grasp.

Now, you don’t believe in such delight.

And it scares me,

because in my reflection, I only see me.