- I felt like sharing an older poem about a silhouette that could be any woman -

She looks at herself
from a special window in her soul,
she waves.

Dreams are heavier than ever,
collapsing like molecules
ready for an implosion.

And she sees it clearly,
her eyes getting used
to the mist of memory.
She finally beholds
the love that is inside,
the hope that trembles like a flame
in a heart that pounds
for better days that never came.

She sees the woman
she thought she was
and simply watches her
cross the same street,
head for the bus stop.
How many times?

Thousands of days,
- or was it millions? -

Like a comet, losing her tail,
the rain, the sun,
the clouds, the rain.

That same path she took,
day after day,
ashes suffocating the sparkle of youth,
while the men watched her
but only saw the flesh,
her heels, her scarf that slides,
revealing iridescent skin.

Today, she is the one who sees,
- a witness -
of her precious time on earth.