Beautiful Narcissus. Brave hunter who refuses to be hunted. I wish I could speak to you, but since Juno’s curse, I can never say what I truly feel. I don’t blame you for rejecting me, a weirdo who rushes out of the woods repeating everything you say. The world has enough crazy as it is. So I must write instead. Not that you will ever read this, obsessed as you are with your own reflection. I watch you every day at the pool, trying to reach out and touch the mirage, only to see it disappear in a ripple of time.
But while most people think you are self-obsessed, I understand what others don’t: you are not in love with yourself, but the mirror image of yourself: The humble Narcissus; the artistic, happy-go-lucky Narcissus. The Narco that’s good at parties. Your reflection is everything that you want to be but aren’t. We are always discontent with ourselves as we are and long for that which completes us. Isn’t that so?
We both have our loneliness in common. But I can never share my soul with you, can never say I love you unless you say it first. And so. Stalemate forever.
You will never read this. But I will always wait for the day that you lift your eyes from the image of love and realize Love in the flesh.
Forever yours incompletely,