Tangential

I can see your face in my dreams.
I don't know if it is really you,
or someone I conjured.
You are intangible,
but maybe so am I.
Maybe we all are
tangent to life but never
really touching it at all.
Do you smile when you're sad
to hide the pain?
I think you do.
So do I.
Why do you call yourself that?
You are not that, you are not hateful.
You are not cruel.
You are vibrant.
I am the phantom, not you.
Do you whisper when you are angry?
Do you draw the life
from everyone you come near?
I can see you,
but I can't see the real you.
I only see what I want,
because I don't know any  more.
I can look in the mirror
but I can't touch it,
touch the person on the other side.
No one can.
Which side of the mirror is real?