These are the last words I’ll write for you, This is not an outpouring of angst and love, You see, I broke my mirror. This journey has reached its destination, And so, perfunctorily I inscribe, Fin.
More out of obligation that a need to confess.
A mere formality, only to signal the end.
But rather a clinical declaration of the absence of love.
This is only to inform you that I am mended-
I have restored and repaired myself.
I was unable to look myself in the eye
And the shards of glass kissed my blood.
But the debris has been swept up now.
The process has come to fruition.
I can now proceed unhindered
And seek my reflection elsewhere.
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