homogenous

I’ve taken to thinking of you and me. Perpendicular souls so

loyal to our own cause, enough that my intentions stood on the 

tracks for a hastening freight train. I have a fear that we’re of the same

entitled metal. As equally as I didn’t budge; you didn’t slow. Commitment

that we share, has us cross each other; so I fear facing you,

and looking into my own eyes. 

I fear letting us connect. I fear we’re mirrors, 

with abridged versions of the same story. I was hurt and

now I hurt. Except I am the continuation, and

you are the verb. I wonder if we could play dot-to-dot 

with our scars. Here are mine. There are yours. Why 

do they lean with such symmetry? Both our wounds

ran from the same source, yet one split eastwards and one, westwards.

Are we too homogenous? Were we parallel roads until we

accidentally broke the only rule? Don’t meet. Don’t meet. Don’t meet.

History speaks to blocked ears, and a bricked-up heart, but

I do sometimes wonder, 

if we will ever come to know each other again, 

more than from a distance?

© Mollie Mardel