Sometimes the mirror speaks to me.

Shh... listen closer

Can you hear?

Sometimes when I walk by, it speaks in tongues I once did not understand

But now I speak the language fluently.

‘Not good enough, not good enough.’

Sometimes when I speed past, it grabs me, shaking me urgently

I must know this information now, not later!

‘Look at yourself. Just look. What happened?’

And now it has me trained. I stop whenever I pass it, for I know it wishes to speak.

Sometimes I even talk back.

Sometimes I simply walk past.

Until it calls me again, declaring in its mocking tone:

’We need to have a talk.’

Enamored.

Oh, but what does it mean?

I am enamored with you.

In which way?

Enamored.

E-N-A-M-O-R-E-D.

Verb; be filled with a feeling of love for.

Or

Have a liking or admiration for.

You are enamored with me.

In which way?

I know that I am enamored with you.

And I know in which way, too.

But this word,

This word that so easily slipped off my tongue,

Now catches in my throat.

We are enamored with each other.

But in which way?

What do I see when I look in the mirror?

I am made of measurements.

I measure the space between my thighs,
The width of my arms,
The time since I have last worn my glasses.

I measure my achievements,
The weight of my successes,
The heaviness of my failures.

I measure the sharpness of my jaw,
The veins on my hands
The blue in my eyes.

I measure my intellect,
The depth of my vocabulary,
The numbers on my report card.

I measure humanity,
The accomplishments of others,
The good and evil of society.

I measure myself,
My looks,
My mind,
My intentions,
My actions,
My triumphs,
My shortcomings,
My reputation,
My future,
My past,
Me.

The difference between

Love

and

Infatuation

Is that love is an impossibly bright sky, but it is also the night sky

It is a stormy day, but it is also a sunlit afternoon,

It comes in flavors that we have not yet tasted,

It completes you in its presence and in its absence it is hollow,

Infatuation is the bright blue in the sky, but it is also the darkness of night,

It is the storm itself, and the sun burning above,

Its flavors seem sweet at first but quickly become sour,

It is a perpetual feeling of never enough,

It does not complete you,

But we all must feel it, for love and infatuation are often confused,

But I assure you,

The mask infatuation wears is not love.

Hello, good boy.

I remember how you always listened.
You held my secrets close.
I told you the twisted words that rolled off my tongue,
And you never flinched.

I remember how you always heard.
You were a diligent friend.
I taught you about the planets, the Earth, the stars,
And you never left.

I remember how you took your time.
You never were too quick.
I hurried you sometimes, restlessly waiting,
And you were always patient.

I remember how you showed your power.
You knew when to choose your battles.
I smiled at you, the second-in-command,
And you ruled kindly.

I remember how your wise soul showed,
Your eyes never hid it.
I was always transfixed, trying to find out who you’d been,
And you told me you were simply... here.

I remember how I read to you.
You always seemed embarassed,
I spoke the word of fables gone, your herd gathered round to hear,
And you casually stood apart.

I remember how I failed you.
You unceasingly forgave me.
I messed things up, I was angry with you,
And you always showed me it was okay.

I remember how I cried to you,
You always let me do it.
I did not succeed, I learned atrocities,
And you brought me endless comfort.

I remember how we struggled together,
You always gave 110%.
I didn’t always believe it; I gave less myself,
And you never stopped trying.

I remember how we were imperfect,
We both failed at times.
I lost confidence, you misstepped,
And we always worked past it.

I remember how my memory fades,
I still cannot express you.
I try to grasp what little I have,
But you transcend words.