In the Shades of Past

Who are you, Dear Face, that I see in dreams? I can recount every line of it, every delicate feature, every hair. And every time I see a glimpse of the face from out of the corner of my eye, I look harder, but it is not your face. And your face in my dreams is vivid, as if you are there, standing near me, that I can reach out and stroke your cheek, kiss your eyebrows.

Were you once the friend from the invisible playground? Or are you someone I've yet to meet? Are you just another in a series of images of a fevered mind? I want to know, I really want to know, because it seems strange not knowing. Are you just the part of myself that I never allow people to see?

And I read all of the words past and I realize I was more right than I thought I was, more real, and suddenly I'm me again, but you've appeared. Where do you lurk, I wonder to myself. Are you like me? Or are you the total opposite of me? I never know, and will probably never know.

So I swirl through the aether, floating motionless, sanguine flights of fancy.

But I still look.