As History Repeats…

On a Saturday evening,

On a black couch,

History repeated.

 

It was the same couch,

Around the same time,

The same you,

 

Except in my place,

Wasn’t me,

But one reformed than me.

 

Behind a glass,

With a heart-lost chest,

Was I.

 

Standing there,

Watching the smiles,

Screaming tears.

 

You wouldn’t turn back,

You couldn’t see me,

Or sense beyond your rainbows.

 

Where I was,

Was dark.

Noisy. Crowded with shadows.

 

Where I was,

Was a place in between

Your past and my present.

 

Where I was,

Was a groundless marsh,

Between memories and reality.

 

Where I was,

Was a wavy ocean,

Of stark choice and ambivalence.

 

Where I was,

I couldn’t break the glass,

And enter the past,

 

Where I am,

I dare not walk in,

Through the shattered glass.

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