Travelled together a long time.
The record there to trace
Etched gently in her face.
A relationship sometimes strained;
I flinch at her reality.
The Me that she has framed
Is not Me of my dream,
A willowy, ethereal beauty
Of the silver screen.
The sands of time
Have softened her face.
Footpaths from emotions of mine
Line her shores.
Every path a history,
A memory.
Eyes, once bright and clear
Pools with cascading falls,
Torrents and rapids;
More tranquil,
They sparkle
With a deeper reflection.
There in her depths
Winks the girl of seventeen.
Swimming and laughing
With all the girls I’ve ever been.
I look and see
Her record of my history.
Though her looks were not my plan,
She is the Me that I am.
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