Who are You?

You are not a mirror
Or a reflection.
Why, then, does my heart take flights of fancy?
Why, then, do I feel that the place I had so closely guarded
No, barbed, clamped shut
Has been prised open?
I yield to your fingers
To your mind,
To your laughter.
Everything I have
Everything I didn't have
Blooms like a flower.

You are not a mirror,
You are the flowing rapids,
Your voice gushes,
Flows and breaks
Upon the rock
Of my soul.

You are not a reflection,
You are as still and as unending
As the waters of a
Black, glassy pond.

My thoughts dart
Like a school of fishes.
Then, my eyes meet yours -
A hook sinks in,
The anchor drops,
And the whirlwind is muted.

Someone presses the Pause
Button on life
Seconds melt into
Minuteshoursdaysmonthscenturies.
Who asks for forever,
When a day is enough.

Or is it?

I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
I made it to the forward deck.
I blessed our remnant fleet –
And then consented to be wrecked,
A thousand kisses deep.

It is strange.

It's strange how a chance encounter with a photograph that's been dug out from some corner, can remind you of how old you've gotten, of how many times the world has spun since and of how certain things will always remain out of your reach. It's strange how one little snapshot can shock your complacent world, and challenge your idea of reality.

Memories seem to burst out of a tiny frame, contained by a long, white line.

Resistance, really, is futile.

The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start