You have so much of me.

Things I want back,

Things I meant to give,

Secrets, and Pain.

Love, and Hatred.

Admiration, and Disgust.


And yet,

I have nothing of you.

At least, not that I carry in my heart.

I do not regret this,

or maybe

I'm terrified to.


From a distance, your image is...

Obscured into clarity

and I've learned that not every Mirror

is accurate

And the cracked one's can Hurt you.