If mirrors were portals and portals were blue,
maybe one day you’d find me crying,
hopefully not crying about you.
If mirrors were scraped knees, water lilies, and a patch of ruins,
it seems easier to sink back into,
so attached, I almost flew in.
But mirrors aren’t one way,
they’re two ways,
maybe three.
Disaster’s almost appetizing.
Just as you were to me.
Carmel 