Me

I see her in the mirror, eyes as bright as snow that thawed down to spring. And left dead flowers in a row I search the glass for traces of the girl I used to know, but every season stole a piece ’Til there was nowhere left to go. She smiles when she is needed, laughs when others expect, yet stands before her own reflection a stranger she has never met. When did this loss arrive? A question I have asked. When did the door start closing, when did I wear this mask? It’s clear it came quietly, disguised as compromise, taking little pieces at a time until I forgot the woman’s eyes. And losing her taught me more than keeping ever could: that a soul can disappear without ever leaving, long before I understood.