I am searching desperately in every dark and filthy corner,
I cannot see her anywhere.
Wading dutifully, waist deep in salty ravines,
But she is not there and I cannot understand where she has gone or why she has left.
I turn slowly from the window, then spin back around,
Racing myself, I almost catch her then.

Outside, she has abandoned this place,
Of secrets and tears,
Of all-revealing looking glasses,
Of imperfect, distorted reflections.
No one is allowed to look at her because everything fell apart,
So quickly, so completely.
She is broken, seven years of bad luck.
She dropped it, the glass,
Because truth and reality and ugliness were all she could see,
And horrified, she dropped it.
Shattered into pieces, one, two, three…
Too many pieces,
Impossible.

The glass, and everything else fell,
Left her collapsed on the floor with nothing to do.
It hurts, effort hurts, trying to make the glass whole again,
But the glass cuts your fingers and you drop it, again.
There are so many missing pieces,
She disappears.

Now finally I find it, that misleading looking glass.
Somehow it is not clouded from our tears,
And somehow it is still light enough to see,
And I see her, finally.

Blue eyes on blue, water on water.
Fingertips touch delicately.
The same, yet different.
She is lost, and I have lost her.
(Or maybe she has left)
Both broken, neither of us are whole.
One empty, with nothing left to fill this void.
The other so fragile, so alone, so easily shattered,
With no protection in this ugly world.

Together, we could be something.
But she is lost and I have lost her,
And there is nowhere in this world for half of a broken person.