Reflection
I want a mirror to image, imagine a picture, a sculpture of love made of me and of you. It’s foolishness yes, and I know, so don’t tell me, that I cannot see what tomorrow may bring, but that’s not what I’m saying, so don’t make up answers to questions you’ve only begun to perceive.
You’re making me crazy or maybe, just maybe, you’re pulling me out of the depths of myself, like when I’m alone and the world seems unending, my solitude screams that I’ve nowhere to run to, except for the one who decided to reach out to me.
Or that might just be an excuse that I’ve made up to cover mistakes that I’ve made all my life and I’d like to forget and forgive those who hurt me and live to desert me on islands of sorrow where hope for tomorrow is seldomly followed by anticipation of articulation of feeling with meaning reflecting what I’ve seen while thinking of you.
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