Reflecting

Said to the mirror, slightly cracked and cliche

'Who?'

She answers in like, but I insist on her lead and she pauses to consider as I wait,
Silence.
I hold this conversation often, with every reflection, usually in passing
But this time the correspondence is savored.
Much like the dream while it lasted.

'I am dark. Seeking solitude.'

The world moves.

The room is hushed, the only movement coming from the stage, casting shadows
That dance to the discordant lack of Rhythm.

The sound is moving,

But she holds herself still --
Except for her spirit which drops heavy and then rises in turn
Chasing the guitar but tethered by the drums,

And occasionally the cello.

She wishes to stand but fears for lacking.

'I have no past.'