Side Note

Dear Hofstadter,

We are a side note: something you'd put at the end of each of our biographies. An afterthought. It is there as an additional something to make the story more colourful, to make both of us more relatable; because, well, who would want to be misunderstood? Who wouldn't want to find a passing soul as their mirror?

But that's all we could ever be: a passing. Not something that settles, not something that rests, not something that stays. Only a passing moment in between both of our orbits, both of us blooming and blossoming into spectacular comets. In this vast cosmos, our chance to collide is slimmer than none. Perhaps we are better if we weren't to collide, well, at least that's what I've been trying to convince myself. 

I used to think that we are better off in a safe distance, where both of our own gravity keep us apart but close at the same time; but it would only hurt me. I could have gone off on another path, discovering everything that is to know about the universe while making you just a temporary pit stop. A pit stop which mimics my non-physical attributes; though the big difference between you and me is the fact that I'd crash into your course anytime, yet you try to manage a distance between us in order to keep yourself safe. But, being safe from collision, consequently from explosion, also means that you'd be safe from the bang, from the brightness that could envelop us, and from the fire that could consume us.

There are a lot of things that we could have said to each other. A list full of dismantled truths and kind intentions. We deserve honesty from each other by disclosing our wants, needs, fears, and anxieties.

Maybe all that we could ever be is a casket full of longing and an urn full of what-if scenarios.

Real side note: everyone wants us to explode. Can't you hear them humming around us?

Warmest regards,

Your faithful mirror.