Cut, splintered, like this mirror, all the pieces of me staring back. Looking past them to your picture lying underneath the glass, I see only glimpses of you. Getting past the pieces takes time, and sometimes my fingers bleed, sweeping past the shards of me that hide your face. Now I see this isn't me, these bits of skin and history, but I am something in-between not framed by wood and glass. All because I broke the mirror to get to your true face. I became nothing, to find that I am something. I am looking for that in you, every star has its own hue and I long to see yours. And all the pieces of you, dark or light or grey, are just flowers in the way to the fountain in your soul. I want to taste, want to feel, that water flow through me, to sate my sense like nothing else. I am waiting on the far side for you to see me past the many hints of your own face reflected backwards in the glass. Hoping you will clear the haze, step across and find yourself beyond your broken mirror. Copyright 2003-2015 Grace Lindsay. This is an original work by Grace, if you wish to publish it please contact her.