I’d shave years off my existence
to see recurring dreams
of holding your hand after midnight.
The memory is too close
to clasp but too hot to touch.
It’s me I can’t bear to see.
In the mirror, doubt doubles down
its reflection — such a worthless connection.
The silence of stillness in blindness is violence.
But what’s to see?
Only what’s become of you and me.
Now that I’d like to see.

(© 2022 AC)

(Wattpad, Amazon Kindle.)