Morning comes, I find myself on the sidewalk
I walk on, detached without grief
perseverance or desolation perhaps a mix of both
Same sky, same breeze, unending.
The creed holds.
In this constant—
Your dashing image, standing dignified
through veiling mist, faint, persistent still
It does not repel. Does not beckon.
I remain on the other side,
looking at reflections: fragments of soul.
Vision blurs. Memories ripple.
I catch sight of the border—
illusion’s seam, dream and real.
Same sky. Light, prismatic.
The wind shifts, stronger now.
If my wish to become—
not presumptuous—
let us pass through death and life.