Where You Watched Me Sing

In the hush of dream’s embrace,

I saw him again.

still and distant,

I followed his gaze,

and there I was on stage,

Singing, glowing,

dressed just like him,

as if once-

we were one.

He didn’t look at me.

He looked at her - the me on stage,

the one with a cap pulled low,

like a crown of becoming.

And I, the third me, watched them both

from somewhere in-between

memory and meaning.

We wore the same skin,

the same simple clothes.

But only I wore the song.

Was he proud? Was he sorry?

Was I?

I felt it - this ache without anger,

a warmth that wasn’t quite love,

but something soft and almost sacred.

Three selves in one dream:

the girl who loved,

the girl who rose,

and the girl who watches it all unfold,

quietly learn how to let go.