A Passing Thought

Sometimes I sit,

And I wonder what’s become of me.

Am I truly the empty shell reflected in the mirror?

Am I the leaf, dried and brittle, dancing across the pavement

At the fickle will and whim of the wind?

Is there something more to me than what I see

Reflected in the mirror?

A glimpse, perhaps, of everything I thought I would be?

Could be?

Was supposed to be?

Maybe she is gone, and I am all that is left.

Melancholy, passionless.

Wondering where and how I came to be here

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