#553-Reflections

Wet mornings.

When the world slept.

I owned the streets.

And stared,

Into life’s mirror,

Doubt-free.

I love the past.

It feels warm,

Sometimes bittersweet,

Yet mostly happy,

For having been.

The future’s imaginary paths,

Are mirages I shouldn’t believe.

Yet it still scares me,

Thinking of mountains to climb,

I cannot see.