There is something irresistable
about loving an idea and only and idea.
We are captivated by the past
and the paths that we never walked.
Sometimes, without knowing, head wins over heart
and we watch passively, as
love fades
and reality grows.
We will love as we are expected to
we will think about the hard fought dreams
of our youth's persistence
as if they were only the fanciful,
flickering, frames
of someone else's home movie.
We all sit in the dark sometimes,
contemplating the features within the shadow of a face
not yet illuminated in our foyers mirror.
There,
below,
in a porcelain tray
are the keys to cars and
houses, alongside
the invitations to relatives' weddings
and birthday parties for neighbors' children-
a whole reality never once dreamt as a child,
an unwelcome truth,
a bitter pill tasting eerily similar to the taste in the back of our mouths
when the first step down the wrong avenue was taken
Staring back in every reflection is the dark outline
of someone,
perhaps,
we should have been.
When did we lose ourselves
to the other side of the mirror?
