Each of you,
has touched me in your own way,
held a part of me; inside you.

And when I walked, on Tuesday mornings,
beneath the bright blue sky, and drifted in thought,
I could see my face, a little bent, a tad--
distorted,
when I looked at the way you reacted to me.
And now what is left is just a mirror,
solid and hard, and cold and dead,
no longer twisting my reflection.