The Man Behind The Mirror (English Version)

The Man Behind The Mirror

Standing in front of the pier glass in the room was a man I once loved dearly. The man had a faint smile on his face and a white shirt on his body. His hair was the color of sparkles and his eyes were the color of honey. He was tall and broad shouldered. The corner of his right eye had a black spot. His lips were red as pomegranate seeds and his skin was like marble. Maybe the absolute definition of beauty was something like that, maybe.

I was one day him and he was one day me. The mine of him!

The pretty man came up to me, sat on the double bed in the room, and stretch out his hand. I smiled lifelessly and took his hand and squeezed it gently. There was silence in that large, empty room. In the room, there was only a double bed and a pier glass and a wardrobe, which now had no clothes in. Two suitcases were waiting in the corner of the room. The window was open and a cool spring breeze was blowing from the open balcony of the room, refreshing the air. The apartment was under his name; A high-rise apartment on the twenty-sixth floor of a towering tower. But it no longer belonged to any of us. Neither I nor him.

Were all the love stories in the world had happy ending? I do not know. Perhaps.

His hands smelled like oranges as usual. I stared into his eyes. He stared into my eyes. My heart was still pounding when I saw those charming honey eyes. Her lips parted, but no sound was heard between them. He took his hands out of mine and stroke my hair. I got drunk and unconscious. I closed my eyes and drowned in that eternal peace. Everything was coming to an end; My world, his world. Those caressing hands were no longer mine.

A tear slid down from my right eye and slipped on my cheeks. I opened my eyes. The man of my dreams was no longer smiling. That faint smile faded from the corners of my lips and flied the city of fairy tales. Our story, the story of that Platonic love, was over. We? Me and you become us?

I stole my eyes from him. My heart ached. The world was still cruel, hardhearted, and heartless. Time Was the time of separation. Separation? What a strange word, but just as familiar as it was.

I got up from the bed, turned my back on him and cried from inside. I broke and became a thousand pieces. I wish time stood still. No. I wish the day I saw him, time would stand still forever and we... we would stay we. The white sheets and ironing of the bed smelled of washing powder, and his lips smelled of honey. Sigh...

There was a rustling sound, I was still drowning in my own grief, my back was bent under the burden of this love. But him... the man with that charming spot, was still hiding his pain. Like the past.

His hands wrapped around my waist and he put his head behind me. My gray plaid shirt got wet. I bit my lips to not to choked with tears. I stroked his hands slowly and gently. Maybe this was the last time...

A few minutes passed like a few years. He untied the ring of his hands from my waist and turned me towards him. His eyes were wet and the tears on his cheeks made him more beautiful than ever. He was one day fully, mine.

I put my arms around his broad shoulders and hugged him with all my being. he melted in my arms. Like light in the dark. Like the drizzle of rain in the endless blue ocean. A hug to the size of an endless dream.

He lifted his head from my chest and once again invited me with a kind smile. I smiled half and half. It was as if my lips were not mine. It was as if I was no longer who I was. The mine of him...

Minutes passed and the life of the world passed and new people were born and old people died. And love... love still existed on this planet. I think, maybe.

We stared at each other for the last time, time stood still. All those good memories, all those bad memories, all those bitter and sweet memories, passed before our eyes like lightning and wind. How soon it passed. It is always too late. But people realize this when it's too late, which is too late to patch up all those deep, endless wounds and pain. Very...

Separation? Is separation the end of love or is love the beginning of separation?

I looked at all the beautiful parts of my dream man's face, reading them one by one, line by line. Word by word, letter by letter. Perhaps the absolute meaning of beauty was such a thing. One him... The him of mine...

Our lips sang a song, love sang love stories. The delicious taste of his lips, that unique taste, was perhaps the last. Last time? What a strange word. Like the end of the world... like the end of this love... maybe everything was a dream.

We took our suitcases and stepped out of the house that was once the palace of our dreams into the black and white world. To the world of wolves and Sheep. To the world of demons and fairies. To the world of loves and separations... to the world of me and you, not our world...

The sound of the suitcase wheels on the pavement of the street in the soft and pleasant morning light whispered in our ears. And the whispering of dawn birds on a cypress branch across the street. Everything was beautiful. Beautiful and painful... like separation...

I was standing on this side of the street and he was on the other side of the street. We Waved our hands like the first day of our meeting. Like the days after. This time, however ... we waved our hands for the last time, only once. His smile was as bright as the spring sun and beautiful, still beautiful.

The sound of footsteps echoing in the ears of the trees. Maybe... maybe one day our love would blossom again, maybe one day like today, right on the corner of this street.

Love was one step away from us... right across the street.

*****