I sit before the shattered mirror and see the images it casts.
Distorted and clear all at once before me sit other images of me.
Through the cracks of glass I see a youthful me, an older me, and yet just who I am.
Images reflected back of days so long now gone are there
Happy, youthful, plays the mask that hides the pain beneath
A time of promise squandered by one who knew it not, but who gives a damn.
A spring of growing pains, scraped knees, kites flown, and bicycles.
Summers of h