Maybe you are crying still
Our eyes met briefly through the pane
When I walked away with no glance back
I thought I heard your hand tap gently
On the golden gilded frame
It’s been years since I last saw you there
Generations past
I think I see your shadow waver
Glimpses through the looking glass
I shut my eyes and turn away
This path is long and neverending
Quietly descending
Then loudly challenging the force
Of gravity’s heel clutching fingers
I won’t look
I left you in the mirror
And as far as I can care to know
You’re standing in there still
Yet I write these letters
Hoping that you’ll see
We’ve almost made it home now
Almost there
It won’t be long now
Almost free
And in the morning misty air
Shower fogged and steamy mirror
I thought I saw you wave to me
Still safe behind the glass
I held your gaze a moment
And made peace with the past
I went into my draft folder to delete this morning’s draft and found this titled, but unwritten post. As they do sometimes, the words flowed easily. When I went looking for a photo, I found this one captivating, and better than the image I thought I had been seeking.
