Two mirrors face each other, a girl in between.

The girl is me, stuck on the cliche of the introvert; on the outside looking in.

My problem is that I've always been on the inside looking out.

Trembling fingers, and one deep breath.

Eyes closed as the tips of his fingers

Grace the smooth edge of the ivory washed keys.

And the notes on the page jump out at him –

Decrescendo here! Forte there! A trill now!

And so the sun, in its dying fire falls,

Into the darkness of the night’s black realm.

The moon ascends into the sky, so stalls

I, to see its beauty and feel its calm.

But then come the stars, crossed in others eyes,

There was a time when innocence meant nothing to me.

She was a veil over the childhood I had

And took for granted,

And when she was stripped I wanted her back.

She was pillaged in the basement

of an old friend’s house.