There is a mirror at the back of this bar, and it is the only thing that stops me from leaving. It always stops me from leaving even though I should know better, even though the miasma is heavy, sorrowful, heart-breaking. I should go, but the mirror shows me too much, and I can’t stop looking. It fills the lacuna in my life, because it shows me my very own imago – my ideal love.
Or rather, my idealised version of love. It isn’t what I thought.
In the mirror, I do not sit alone. Next to me is a man, older than me, quite scruffy, but crinkle-eyed and wide-smiled, his tie is loose and his shirt is rumpled. He talks, he listens, he holds my hand. I can almost feel his fingers entwined in mine, the synchronicity of whatever brought us here at the same time, needing the same thing, blindsides me.
But when I turn to him, he is not there. Instead there is an oscitating emptiness.
I wonder; is there a lonely, crumpled man in another bar in another time, or world, or life, looking at me in a mirror?
I’ll have another drink and look for him.
©Lisamarie Lamb 2011