Love looks at itself in the mirror

Man in Mirror

In a past life,
did we run in circles trying to find each other?

did we get it wrong every time
and wind up in places opposite of where we thought we would be
where we settled for the ease of pre-written promises and
nothing new to memorize or commit to,
did we take the shortcuts that might help us
find ourselves sooner
but only killed our souls quicker?

I wonder
in this life did we get so close
we ended up on the other side of each other
like touching a two-way funhouse mirror
that contorts love into something sly
and hard to look at, to confront yourself in?

and will we always play an unnamed game of
who can come closest to filling the shape of where
love is with something that makes us
more comfortable,
less caught,

must we always act like letting someone in
is a match of tug-o-war?

These days I think
I only drink so much coffee
because my body desperately
wants to recreate the feeling
of warmth on my lips
that I once got from love,
something to hold in my hand
that might even slightly
resemble your fingers,

some days I think
Iā€™m kidding myself
trying to exist without
a love that burns me,

because somehow
I will always require something that
catches my tongue,
gives my chest a reason
feel on fire.

by Stela Xega

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