I'm looking at you through the glass.
The spectrum is changing; fading.
You're skin, as beautiful as porcelain. The very features that make up your being; chiseled as if by a sculptor. The beauty that once was, and still is, is fading. Not as if to disappear, but enough to morph the simple idea of the person you once were. The glass is the mirror into which  I am staring. I am you. You are me. I am noticing the beginning signs of losing myself. Once more. I can't stop it this time.