MIRROR
DISCLAIMER: Hey. Let's make a copy-and-paste thing here. Okay, so, CLAMP and its works are not mine. They belong to, uh, CLAMP. WISH, Holic, Tokyo Babylon, X, Tsubasa, RG Veda, Kobato, Cardcaptor Sakura, Drug & Drop, Chobits, and every other story I have not mentioned here but that I might use are not mine, but CLAMP's. Also, the characters are also CLAMP's property. What I do own is this series of drabbles I've been writing from different CLAMP works, that are not really related. I have no monetary interest with any of this, of course, but, now, if you'd like to leave me comments, I'd be incredibly happy… (Sorry, sorry. Thought it was a good opening)
. . .
There was something mirror-like in seeing you. It was like seeing my own living, touchable reflex. You were different, of course — however, at the same time, you weren't. My eyes, staring back in mine, my face, with that lopsided grin, my hair, falling disorderly on my fair skin. It was me, and it was you, and we were reflexes, with the same smile, with the same face, and the same bones.
Yet, we weren't. Like a reflex, showing an inverted object. You and I had different special persons in our hearts, we had different functions. I gave my everything to my duty as the leader of the house of Suberagi, and you gave your all to the love that burnt in your chest, forever taking your being. I always held back for fear of rejection, while you always dove head first, laughing the whole time. I closed my eyes — and you stared at the world, imperfect as it is, cheerful and mesmerized with all that was beautiful about… everything.
We were reflected images and we were warmth in ourselves. When I hugged you, thin, trembling arms, you were a burning flame in my chest, a thunder in the air, electricity in my skin. You were alive, warm and shiny. You were everything I wasn't, and you were a person, a living, breathing person separated from our mirror existence.
Maybe, at some point, we were supposed to be born the same; maybe we were supposed to be one, with huge power and a single conscience. At the end, however, we were born as if in front of a mirror, so alike yet so different, laughter echoing and hearts beating, and love so, so distant that we could only attract them like opposite magnets — always pulling at each other.
Perhaps, I sometimes thought, we were a mirror. But we were a broken, fragmented mirror, which pieces were falling in the realm of reality, reflexes exposed to thin air, living one in hope and the other in fear — yet, even so, I wouldn't wish it any other way.
Any other way, we would be so lifeless it would be a shame.