the looking glass

it goes beyond the reflection. I can't seem to get behind the glass. My fingertips glide over the cool smooth fingers of the young boy in his backwards world. he copies my every move as if we were one, but we are two. his eyes are empty, guarded and flighty. He can't look into my eyes and i wonder why. he looks hurt, broken, he has walls. He backs up and we look at each other. his clothes are too big, sleeves too long, jeans ripped at the bottom. i sigh and his shoulders slump forward. we turn both turn away.

I don't know that boy.