An extraordinary year comes to an end, just like many others, yet I distinctly remember that one year when a remarkable entourage of human beings gathered around me. I had hoped our story would have a happy ending, but sometimes wishes don’t come true. Now, staring at the glass wall, I see only myself, alone, burdened with a heavy bag of despair and endless remorse. The seeds I had sown were now bearing their bitter fruit. But my story wasn’t always like this.
There was a time when I saw her in my reflection. Her enchanting beauty, meticulously refracted through her glasses, captivated me. No matter how small my angle of incidence, the image I received was larger than life. Deep down, I never anticipated that my angle would diminish to a critical point, plunging me into eternal darkness. My story began with a plasma wall, commonly known as a monitor or personal computer, where I first learned about this incredible person. I don’t know when we became close, but somehow, streams of binary bits connected us. Those simple sequences of zeros and ones profoundly impacted my life, and they still do.
At times, I find myself staring at that same plasma wall, reading past conversations. The color has faded; there’s no color at all. It makes no sense to revisit a past that was once colorful and radiant, yet I do, reading some paragraphs so many times that I no longer need a screen to see them. They come naturally.
In the beginning, I chased many dreams. Some came true, but most failed. When dreams fail, the glass wall in which I see myself sometimes shatters, its fragments piercing me, leaving me asphyxiated and bleeding. Then came a day when I lost everything and found myself drowning in an ocean of melancholy, unable to scream or signal for help. But I found comfort in a surprising place.
Every nightmare ends, and so did mine. I felt the gentle touch of someone on my forehead, a reminder that the world hadn’t ended. Everyone is haunted by their past, but some carry haunted stories. Reaching their zenith, they see their problems as minuscule and keep moving forward, fueled by each challenge.
I came to know her. Slowly, I cleared the mist from my glass wall and saw her as my reflection. I had found the love of my life. Love ballads and romantic literature suddenly made sense. I began to dream again and regained my life. It seemed like a stroke of luck, as if a talisman had been placed under my pillow.
But one day, my reflection started to fade. I watched her leave, unable to stop the widening cracks. She tried to mend them but only got hurt in the process. I never wanted that for her. I wanted the best for her, but I ultimately failed. The crack remains, my reflection now distorted. Yet, I felt grateful to have been loved by her. I left behind a silent tear and a hopeful wish, knowing it was impossible for us to converge again in this space and time. The winter chill froze me inside, deepening my coldness.
Years later, I see her again. I had always hoped for a meaningful beginning and a strong ending to our story. I searched for my glass wall, finding only distorted fragments in my attic. Now, I see the love of my life. She’s happier – married, successful, with Ivy League degrees and beautiful children. I long to cross the street, talk to her, and express my undying love. But I don’t, or rather, I can’t. Not out of fear of societal judgment, but because I want to preserve the dream she once had. I wish to do something as simple as holding her hand and promising never to let go. But I still don’t, or rather, I can’t. Long ago, I left this world…