I have loved you in every sense of the word. You have been a friend, a best friend, and closer to me than family. I have been in love with you. I think maybe you may have been in love with me too. Maybe for a day or two we were even in love at the same time. But I never told you because I love you too much. The thought of us being in love and then falling apart was too much for me to stand. We could have had the kind of love that people write songs about. I could have died happy knowing that you loved me the way I loved you. I could have married you, built a life with you, and grown old with you. But the even 1% chance that going down that road would mean losing you was too big a risk. I love you too much to not have you in my life. I love you. You can take that to mean whatever you need it to mean.

I flip on the light of my tiny bathroom as I groggily make my way to the sink. The girl in the mirror staring back at me has a tear-stained face and tired eyes, dark with lack of sleep. The long hair is a knotted, greasy mess and is clearly in need of a good wash and comb. I tilt my head at the girl in the mirror as her face changes from helpless to furious and she begins to bang on the glass from her side. I shrug at her and say, "Sorry. I had to be your reflection for 18 years. The least you can do is take a turn". She lets out a soundless shriek as I brush my teeth and splash water on my face. I dry off and examine the face twisted in dispair and rage. I sigh as I take my phone from my pocket and open the front-facing camera to see how I look. I fix my hair before looking back in the mirror. The girl in the mirror is crying, bracing herself against the glass as she heaves with sobs. I roll my eyes as I slip my phone back into my pocket. "If you can't learn to be a good reflection, I'm going to break this mirror and you can stay in there forever."

I turn on my heel and switch out the light as I leave the bathroom. The girl in the mirror continues to silently cry.

I was 14 when my mother called me from work and choking back tears, told me that she had been laid off from her research nurse job at the prestigious hospital downtown. I was only months away from starting at the fancy private high school she had wanted so badly for me to attend. She told me not to worry; she’d find a new job and take care of me.

I was 14 and frustrated at my new school. I had to leave all my middle school friends and was not adjusting well to the new community. I was mad at my mom, who had to drop me off an hour early and pick me up late almost evey day. She hadn’t found a new research job at the big hospital downtown, and had to pick up shift work at the local hospital. Dropping me off and picking me up were the most time we were really able to spend together. I told her how much I hated the long days.

I was 15 when my mother started going in for medical tests. When she switched to the local hospital, she had been required to get a full medical exam and the doctor had decided that day to also order a chest scan; this was not standard practice. They saw a small dot in her right lung and started investigating what it was. She told me not to worry; she’d get it figured out and be alright in no time.

I was 15 and scared out of my mind in the hospital waiting room. I sat in my school uniform, because mom had insisted I not miss classes so close to exams. It was just supposed to be exploratory surgery to figure out what that spot was on her lung. It turned out to be early stage cancer, and they had to remove a third of the lung to be sure that they got it all. Afterwads, She held my hand in her recovery room and told me not to worry; she’d be out of there soon and everything would be okay. She squeezed my hand and said, “Isn’t it a good thing I lost my job? We’d have never caught it in time otherwise.”