I lean in,
and there he is,
standing just behind my eyes,
younger, unscarred,
still believing in things
I quietly buried.
For a moment
we share the same face,
but not the same life.
His eyes are brighter.
Mine are heavier.
Somewhere between us
time learned how to take without asking.
I lift a hand,
he lifts his too,
but it feels like I’m reaching back
instead of forward.
I remember what it felt like
to laugh without checking the room,
to love without measuring the risk,
to hate in clean, simple lines
that didn’t bleed into everything else.
Now it’s all mixed,
joy tangled with regret,
love knotted to loss,
anger softened by exhaustion.
I search his face
for something I lost,
and he studies mine
like it was forgotten to time.
There’s pride there too,
buried under the weight,
in the way we both kept going,
even when we didn’t know why.
I want to tell him
what it will cost,
what it will give,
how it will break him
and somehow make him deeper.
But the glass doesn’t carry sound,
Doesn’t feel,
sharing one reflection,
holding two lives
that can never touch.
And for a second,
I don’t know which one of us
I’m supposed to be.
this is really deep dearest Fred somtimes I wonder when that woman in me went did she die? go to heavn and leave me here… great write ❤️
Thank you, Crimsin….
Powerfully penned, Fred. Excellent write with lots of layers my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you Damian…