he sees his own reflection, and holds out his hand.
This is not me, he says,
And this is not the only me.
For though the hands touched he knew,
they were separated by glass unseen.
Behind the glass lay reality,
and no matter how he tried, he could never step there.
He smiles and his reflection smiles back,
but somehow the smiles were different.
He knows he is observed,
by him , and him, and they.
They were similar, but different.
Very different.
So he asks himself if he should hold on
and perhaps, just perhaps cross into reality.
He knew he could cross, but he would never be the same.
He risked being incomplete.
But then again, he knew that to discover, he had to discard.
Such was life.
He was cursed to walk alone,
though he never really was alone.
For they were him and he was them,
and they who gave him the courage were now giving him fear.
He is confused.
His knowledge was his power, but now it was his curse.
And because of that, he knew if he lost himself,
he would never be able to come back.
The mirror told him a thousand stories
that only he understood.
They were all stories without endings.
These unfinished tales were heavy as gold,
but not the least bit as precious.
He wished he could let go.
He once could,
but that once seemed another dimension away.
Just like the boy in the mirror.
The thousand stories were a thousand tears,
some of which were replaced by blood.
He had no other choice.
He had to discard to discover.
But not everything can be forgotten.
He has come this far,
regardless of how he got here.
In the end, he will have to discard
himself.
He prays it will not happen,
his fading glimmer was his prayer.
For the times he died
And the times he knows he'll have to
In return for an exchange
Transforming his dreams
Home towards his reality.
They always said he was complicated.
How he wished they were wrong.
0 comments:
Post a Comment