My outstretched hand yearns for the silhouette in the distance.
As I look at her by the mirror, her reflection looks back.
She returns to the bed, now laying but an inch away.
The rings on our fingers speak for themselves, yet, we are not together.
I brush my nose against hers as my heart aches for more.
A simple tip up of the chin and a lean is all it takes.
But I know I cannot.
She does not belong to me, and I not to her.
As I look into her eyes, she looks back and asks,
"Why do the birds fly and the fish swim?"
More questions without answers.
Roads without ends.
Two souls lost without direction.
I tell her, "For the same reason the grass is green and the water is blue."
She looks at me for a moment, then closes her eyes without saying a word.
I myself turn over, closing my own.
Momentarily I'll arrive in a place where the birds don't fly, and the fish don't swim.
A place with colors that don't exist,
And sounds you cannot hear.
A place with imaginary answers for every question.
Goodbye, my dear.
I'll see you on the other side.