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Finding Manhattan
My reflection is a stranger’s mirror, blurred and shifting.
Maybe she’s someone I used to know,
or a shadow of who I’m slowly becoming.
A ghost caught between past and future.
Uncontrollable, like a storm rising without warning.
Unrecognizable, as if seen through cracked glass.
Angry flames flicker behind tired eyes,
broken fragments scattered across a fragile soul,
fearful whispers echoing in the doubts that live within.
Somewhere in that space between my head and my heart.
Unattached and in a daze - modernly caged -
Forever stuck beneath the fracture surface,
beneath the storm’s restless breath.
a quiet tremble hums like distant thunder,
a pulse that does not ask for reason,
nor demands understanding.
The space where shadows transform into light,
where silence bends into sound,
where finding yourself isn’t about the arrival or escape,
?but the endless unfolding.
A soft unraveling of edges,
a dance without form — a song without a melody,
where I am both lost and found,
and the mirror’s surface is not a boundary,
but an open door,
inviting me into the unknown.
Copyright ©
Allyson Scully
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