Mirror. Reflection. Decision. Question. Repeat.
Is it the space between you and the one you haven’t seen in forever?
Is it walking in through a door and realizing you recognize nothing anymore?
Asking, “May I sit here?” Instead of pulling up a chair? Walking on tiptoe, so as not to upset the dust you left behind.
What is a stranger? Realizing you know nothing of the life you left. Coming back again, feeling Alien in a place you used to know.
Walking the halls like a ghost of the past but no knowledge of the present to haunt.
Once upon a time you could recite the lines in these walls like an old poem, knew what was behind every closed door and the contents of every drawer and the feeling of your feet on these wooden floor boards.
You remember the times you painted the wall, covering these doors in laughter and memories, pretending now you don’t see the casualties of the war you left behind.
Leaving was for the best you justify, repeatedly, until you almost Believe it, almost. Except you don’t. And you know you never will.
Mirror. Reflection. Decision. Question.
Running words through your head but you leave them to rest, better lost on a stranger, than heard by a once familiar.
What is a stranger?
It’s knowing the house but knowing nothing of its owner.