Still Here
Still Here
You think I’m gone, that I left without a goodbye.
You don’t see me in your mirror, but I’m here.
You don’t hear me in the wind, but it echoes my tone.
You don’t see my eyes in the blossoms, but they’re there.
You don’t see my smile in the sun, but it’s there.
Or maybe you do.
Maybe you see my face behind you in the glass.
Maybe you hear my laugh in the breeze.
Maybe you admire the blooms, seeing my iris in the pistil or petals.
Maybe you look up at the sun without glasses to remember the glow of my joy.
Maybe you’ve always seen me in these things.
Maybe it hurts to look.
Maybe you’d rather break the glass, destroy the reflection.
Maybe you stay inside so the gale can’t send you my voice.
Maybe you strip the flowers’ roots because the buds mock the color you loved so.
Maybe you cover up so the warmth sun can’t remind you of all the times I smiled your way.
But I’m still here.
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