As I glance within that antique mirror I peer beyond what tangible visage is reflected,
Beyond that secure facade,
Upon distortion of an identity, afar from all familiarity,
A dissimilar being, of once unprecedented purpose,

For, fine china does not break to reassemble,
For, you and I are never to be as we once were.

Those three words;
hurt me, burn
me, know me.
Desolate delight. I
will burden you
with identity. I
will ache for
my divine shadows
to return. Yet
the clouds parted
and I saw
truth, some strange
recognition within, brought
by my thoughts.
"I know you."