In him, I see myself. But the lense of his distorts somethings sometimes. He’s like my phone, has a hard cover so strong, not even the owner can reach its core, but so receptive that everyone can influence its mind. Who really knows if his thoughts are his own, from others, who really knows if it’s true. Like my phone, so decisive that he could seek out the truth if he really wanted. But he doesn’t, because he likes it wrong. In him, I see myself. A reflection isn’t accurate though. A reflection is completely opposite really, but in knowing what he is, I see what I am not. And when the hardware runs hit, with input/output overload, information maybe true and really false, he’ll need me. Or the thing in me that makes things clear. In him, I see myself. Shine a light it’s equal and compliment fraction is the dark. And depending on the time within a twenty four hour scale, we switch position, revolving and opposing and transitioning into and away from, back again. And so, I’m like a window, transparent in that what is within, behind, in front of, can reach in touch of the cold hard truth that is only a transparent thing. In him I see myself because through this strong, protective barrier of a wall made of talk, assumption, intrigue then deception, what I can finally reach through a window, the soul.
top of page
bottom of page