Of non-technological envelopes

I'm afraid to see you again, and erase one iota of the state to which this story came.

I don't know if it can be more. I doubt it and refuse to do anything that destroys in the least

How much is this worth to me.

After seeing what you think, I am glad to be part

of an accomplice story ... resigned ... idyllic ... real.

I refuse to remember you as one of the most sublime moments in my history

because it really is the best. Me, sitting there, without being me. You being you, and not just you.

In love with those strangers in the mirror.

I on this side, you on my chest, relaxed, with hair over your eyes.

And those two in the reflection, contrary to our principles, in this context,

as actors in a story that we direct, following the script that from the outside

only you and I understand ...

I say ... you say.

That girl, with the cute eyes, the grinning smile, soul of an angel, in stellar paper.

That guy; architect of this script. Silly and corny to the extreme ...

Only for the rope you give me, and the rope with which you bind me.

Two idiots ... well idiots!

Of yours. From this side.

Envy of the mirror, arrogant of the paper, unable to do more.

They look at us from there

With the mockery of what they are before us, free like the wind, like air

Conscious that we can only see them, and only in front of the mirror

If we leave, they no longer exist.

But they remain there forever, in a parallel life that we did

With the eternal gratitude of the linestring, plus the offset, plus the buffer

With the request that we do nothing already,

To ruin paradise

We stand outside, doubtful if we are really real

Or just the reflection of another story they built

From the other side, at the same time, not in the same space