they say hearts see ten times past vision
I’ve always felt sheltered by my glasses
troubled at letting go of things in front of me
managing to carry boulders when I weigh feathers

longing for the answer of not breaking at the stem
pleading to split down the middle
always dealt the smaller end

I will forever be a third of myself
if I count every step I took backwards

cars passing by as lines of light
and I know my direction is north
the hands around my waist
seem to spin me around clockwise
life having its middles
and I am reminded of my favorite novel’s end

I walked towards him like a withered rose
how am I looking in the mirror and blooming