The Stories In Between

I grow tired of the reflection
How it always stares back at me
Like an old friend I’ve watched over the years
Condescending, knowing, judging
Eliciting each imperfection, accentuating
Ensuring I never forget, anything

All the years it held, the broken regrets
An occasional smile, danced mockingly
As the hands of the clock move forever forward
Now, it seems the reflection has grown tired of me
I no longer recognize what I see
It looks past, through me
The cold indifference dismisses, hollows me

I shift from one foot to the other, and back again
Staring into nothing, looking for something
That was once a vague reflection of me
Time is taken as quickly as it is given
A paradox of moments that can never last
One after another, until the circle is complete
Always in motion, confined to a linear narrative

What is forever, is it knotted within all…

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