Through the mirror, she reaches out,
her arm outstretched.
I blink, she blinks, I smile, she smiles
She is real. I am real.
The beautiful vase, a gift, a memory,
the shining woman in gold,
It is real. She is real.
Lovingly, I lift the vase,
And hurl it at the mirror.
Anger, love, hate, peace
All exist, all are real.
Broken mirror, shattered ceramic,
chipped paint, threads, warmth.
melt down, leave nothing, but a void.
Was it real? Was she real? Was I real?