Lately, me and the man in the mirror feel like two separate entities. I can see him, but he could only hear my thoughts in his head. His appearance is no longer associated with me.
I see him in the mirror, and I feel pity for him. He knows it, and his face starts reshaping in a way that makes him look even more pathetic. He seems sad, for he cries whenever I check on him. But I also see some helpless anger mixed with his sadness. His regret is countered by his helplessness; he could not have done otherwise, and cannot change that now.
It surprises me that whenever I remind him of any part of his (recent or old) past he smiles for about half a second. I wonder if he finds it funny and ironic, or if his smile is just a silent acknowledgment of his worthlessness. His smile is then forced by the other half-second to adjust allowing a natural passage of tears. He cries for his luck, and he cries a little more for knowing that I watch him. I guess he considers me a separate entity too, and he feels even more pathetic that someone gets to see him in that state.
I would have said that he was a master of self-control, since he did not show others what I extracted of him. But he has not earned a concerned look of anyone he knew, not even a fraction of that which I had upon him for many years.
Once, we were one and the same. My well-being was his, and his was mine. But, over time, we have not only become separate, but we have become the reason why each of us is falling apart. He was guided by what I thought, and I was limited by what he was able to do.
In a way, me and him are fed up with our fruitless relationship. I admit I may have demanded too much, but I only did so because he provided too little. Yes, I have addressed him very harshly and called him names, but you have no idea how laid back he was. He sat back and watched everything from the sidelines. He was so terrified of everything that he rarely did anything. He thought he had everything he needed, but now he comes out of his cave feeling depraved and blaming me. I had no control over him, and he has known that ever since he won our bloodiest fight two years ago. I was right but he was (and might still be) incapable of doing the right thing.
We have reached the point where the nicest feeling I can hold for him is pity, and where my safety from him is only guaranteed by the fact that he cannot physically reach me.