There are moments when she looks through me,
when a simple glance brings pure truth,
pupils growing with the hidden seen.
She dashes through the corners of my glances,
white and wraith like,
clinging to me still.
She dances through my dreams,
through the pages,
through the words that characters speak.
She is scared by my reality,
She longs for a different and new world,
One safe and held,
one loved and warm.
Yet she clings still,
she still whispers through my mind,
still holds my hand in the mirror,
And I am scared that one day,
one day the glances, moments, clarity will stop,
the dancing and whispering will spin to a halt,
her half heard melody,
like the radio from next door,
will be forever unplugged.
And I don’t think I’d make it through that, truth be told.