We blankly stare at each other from different sides of the glass, this is how every meeting starts. I take a step closer, and so does he. The sadness in the pools of his eyes is an old friend, but one whose company I have never enjoyed.
I'm right up against the transparent wall, hands pressed against it, the tip of my nose brushing the cold surface. He raises his hands to meet mine, he holds them flat against his side of the glass. It's painful to realise that this is the closest we'll ever get: our palms spread open on opposite sides of an invisible boundary. It hurts to know that our fingers will never interlace, our hands will never hold.
I see him mouth out a few words, the same ones I am always deaf to. I assume he's telling me that he loves me, it's the best thing I can come up with; an imaginary confirmation that he feels the same as I do, although I will never be able to tell him. I nod as if I understand him, and a smile breaks open on his face; luminous.
We stand still until days stretch into weeks and years; hands pressed against the glass, sharing sweet nothing's that cannot even be heard.
Slowly, my hands peel of the glass. The palms, gradually followed by each finger. I take a step backwards and say goodbye with a wave. The sadness in his eyes rises to the surface once again.
This is heartbreak on repeat, this is how every meeting ends.
Our love; eternally barricaded by an infinite glass wall.