Into The Mirror.

"Why do you continue to haunt me?"
"Is that what I have been reduced to?"

"Yes. You're a ghost. A memory, lingering in the shadows. I can't see you. I don't want to see you."
"Then maybe it's the right time for somebody new."

-

He always knew what was right, or so it seemed to her. She looked in his eyes, and lost herself countless times. His words spun webs, and she gladly flew into his traps, the sheen from the blinds too bright to ignore. He'd run his finger along her jaw. She'd sing to herself, so his words would disappear. He'd cry so he didn't have to look into her soul. She wept because he could see right through her.

They made love that night. She, with daggers in her eyes, and him, with vacant orbs, empty cages where he wished she wouldn't mind seeing herself.