Love at first sight, it is bizarre, how confidently you can claim to love me,
Does my character reveal itself through the hollowness of my pupils,
the tug, the indentation of my smile lines?
Whatever persona I decided to become before you today
has emerged “me”, to you.
A singular piece of paper in an ongoing novel,
with more pages than the collected hours of my life,
taken out of context, abstracted to summarize: an apparent whole, the perceived “essence” —
more akin to a poorly committed forgery.
Love from romanticized ideals,
and fictional dreams,
A potential romantic interest,
Was I cast in gold?
How captivated one can be by a flicker…
The face you claim to know is not mine,
it is a reflection of your own.
©2019 Helene Heid.