reflections 

To love what you will never 
believe twice, to believe only the truly 
unbelievable, is to begin to understand the 
thousands of lives we’ve lived, if only to
remember the closest one. 
To reach out in the darkness, clawing at the familiar ache 
of the daily pangs of grief, of affection, of regret, 
to take great pains in holding that swindling joker, none 
other than Time itself, who jeers along. 
To pluck that proverbial day that makes the rest gleam 
and fade as it dulls the mind-numbing reality of 
looking back to the beginning of the end of your days. 
To do nothing so productively that you, the spectator, 
dictate the mirror of art, of style, of life.