He’s never here, never there.
Watching on one side of the window. Sees no reflection.
Choosing not to endure.
Each note, each brushstroke, takes him closer to the other side.
Out and into an emptiness he cannot see.
The sleeping hearts, that once were at a distance.
For only a moment, starting from within.
The chance to start again.
He steps closer to home.
He takes a breath and says,
“I’m on the other side now.”
© Michael Lee December 2012