To me, you are a mirror.

I see you, you reflect my gaze,

and we politely acknowledge one another.

Our socially accepted role is met.

But oh, how I long to reach out into the pool of your soul,

to ripple your world with the tips of my fingers,

to dive, and immerse myself in your thoughts,

you life,

or is it lives?

Because perhaps then I could grasp

how the boy who wrote to me "I will never forget"

has already erased me from his memory,

my image but a bad picture banished from his brain.

Perhaps then, as I swam down the rapid stream of your mind,

I could ask the question "is now too soon

to reunite the two rivers

that flow between me and you?"

Perhaps then, I would be able to swallow the pain

of a mouth filled with bitter salty stain

and carry on, instead of forever peering into a water vacant well,

awaiting an impossible rain.

Instead, I stand in my window,

and watch my reflection watching me gaze out the window,

longing, aching,

not knowing why your body does not fill this emptiness

as the cars buzz by.

A little girl in the backseat seeks out my gaze,

and waves,

I reply with a smile.

We both are locked behind a prison of glass,

praying for an escape

only we have the power to create.

Because to me, you are a mirror.

You do not speak, you do not feel,

you only can mimic all the emotions raging inside of me.

You are cold, you are removed,

and when I turn to leave,

you disappear

like a fish fleeing to the depths of the sea.

Oh my love, where have you hidden me?

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