BY MAGGIE HILL
Some days I am her.
Smooth skin and a bubbling laugh,
Echoing across a room; filling up the air.
She is kind and sure,
And sees the world as a problem to solve.
She is the world,
But more importantly she is her.
On other days,
On days like today,
I am me.
Unkempt hair and fleeting eyes,
A hollowness that bounces around my chest.
A weakly plastered smile,
Cracking at its edges.
My body is built of lead and stone,
And my thoughts are reckless;
From then I cannot hide.
The sun will rise and the sun will fall,
And still I will remain.
Nothing is impossible,
But living on days like today.
Why can I not be both her and me?
She and I?
Or even she and me?
Why is there such a divide that exists beneath my fragile skin,
Inside my chaotic mind?
How can she smile when tears prick my eyes?
How can I leave when she refuses to change her mind?
The lines begin to blur,
As the boundary becomes undefined.
In the eyes of a lover,
In the frown of a friend.
There is no space between us in the dark.