Sometimes she sees me.
A stranger that lives in her skin, inhales her breaths and remembers her dreams.
At times I see her eyes when I look in the mirror.
She peers out in wonder at the strangeness of it all.
So different from what she imagined, so strange.
She looks around the room and takes in her surroundings breathing in free air so foreign to her soul.
She tries to give me hope; tries to offer support.
She tries to break through me.
A numbness overtakes her; so weary she falls away, like the last leaf on a tree in the dead of winter.
She flutters to the ground and I open my eyes.
A stranger, an interloper so self aware of my shortcomings.
She recedes into the background and watches and waits for the chance to see through my eyes, to live this life and make us both more than what we are.
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