The woman, or the character?
Was I born of flesh, and bone,
or merely a figment born of a
lonely writer’s imagination.

Do I not see this woman I appear to be?
Were these eyes, with which I see
created for me within a mother’s womb, or
merely a mirror image of what you wish to see?

When I say the words “ I love you”,
is it my heart speaking, or the
emptiness of pen against paper?
Do I even possess a heart, do we?

When I cease to exist, will you feel my pain?


Kathleen M. Kohl/Levinski