I write these poems in a mirror and think I am looking at
out, even though I know you are somewhere in the mirror, too, a face that moves
me, changes me, recreates me into something other than what I might otherwise
have been.
When I think of you, I see my face change in the mirror,
pained over what no longer exists, deluded into thinking it might still be,
when I know what I feel is self-contained, like being in a bubble floated in
the air, seemingly carefree, always aware the bubble might burst an any moment;
I cling to you because that is all there is, this frail fabric, the thin veneer
of love, I pray, will still exist long after it all crashes down. I write these
people in a mirror, seeing the impact you have on me, how much less I would be if I did not have you
in my life, even when you are not, and can never been again, this reflection of
feelings keeping this bubble afloat, an illusion I need to maintain in order to
survive, a mirror of me, reflected in you, and without out, I case, and so, I
cling to the interior of this bubble, waiting for the moment when it will
burst.
No comments:
Post a Comment