I see a reflection of me in you.
You sit across of me, holding on to your cup like it’s the only thing that can hold you up.
We don’t speak because we don’t need to. Our blank stares talk to one another.
The space between us is brimming with fear. The air is anxious.
You say something. I don’t listen.
“I just want to be free,” I say.
You want the same.
But neither one of us has been freed from our past pain.
We’re holding onto old feelings we thought we let go of.
We try to move on by remaining still.
Suffocating on secrets we don’t want to keep.
Addicted to detrimental beliefs.
Masked by a false sense of genuineness.
Forced reactions. Insincere smiles.
I wonder when I became this way.
When did I give up?
When did I become a reflection of you?