In many ways it was perfect:
Your smiles echoed mine, vainly suppressed.
You were my reflection,
To be touched but never embraced.

Everything I saw
I saw with you in view
You central, you peripheral,


But now I see that I am your reflection,
Existing only within your vision,
Pining for my Narcissus.

And yet it is an imperfect analogy,
For I were your reflection;
You, Narcissus,
You would want me.

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