Upon Reflection

Sun streams through dusty panes; the light filtering into even the darkest recesses of my room. This threadbare carpet takes on the richness of silken tapestries laced with strands of gold. What thoughts reach out to me as I see the bed still echoing the shape of you! Everywhere you have left your mark: the open book, the empty cup, the jug of flowers against the wall. I see your shadow flit across the room on the outer edges of my vision. You exist, and yet you don't, and the ambiguity is all but lost on me, because you are more real than my very breath. With all that I remember, you are the essence of every memory within. I have known you forever and never, and if we were somehow finally to meet, what would we say that cannot be said into the late night darkness when no one else can hear? All the words have been used already and mean everything or nothing depending on their arrangement. It is the patterns they create that have significance. The pictures that lie half-way between light and shadow that tell us more than we can tell ourselves. And though we slip through time and place never sharing even a moment in space, I know when you have been here, lying in the sunstream pasture. And I lie upon the same rough patch of carpet, almost feeling the touch of your body and the warmth of you. The air is redolent with your thoughts. And I swear that if I look through the window enough times, reflection upon reflection upon reflection will ultimately show me the image of your face.

Flash