If Only I Knew Myself

I see a person walking on the other side of the street. She peers into the sunlight, looking for answers. I peer at her, searching for the same thing. Do I know her? Does she know me? Who knows. I stare at her in wonder, but she doesn't notice me. I walk up to her, and tap her on the shoulder. She continues her glare into the abyss. A gust of wind whips her hair around her face. The tendrils dance the tango. They are as active as my mind.

Wiping her hair from her face, I notice myself mimic her, her exact movements are mine. Or are they hers? Who is she? I cannot take the uncertainty any longer. Jumping into her view sporadically, I wave my arms above my head and shake my legs underneath me. A certain jumping-jack form. A smile appears on her face. Is she laughing at me? What does she see? I cannot tell. Mystery bites at my neck like a vampire, sucking the life out of me.

I turn around to face the sun. Out of the bright fingers of the sun's embrace walks a figure. A male. He beams with joy. She is reciprocating this action when I wheel about to face her again. Arms held open, she reaches him and holds him close. I am in the middle of this faction. I, myself, am invisible, but I feel everything; my stomach holds a cage of butterflies. Their hearts beat on top of each other, creating a sound like a drumbeat. It pounds in my head, a rushing river of thumps. "Thump, thump, thumpedy thump".

In this moment, my only desire is to own what she owns, see what she sees, be who she is. Suddenly, a realization occurs that never happened before. I look at her eyes, which stand on the same mountaintop of a nose that mine do. Her hair is stained by the sun, stained red, although I know it would be brown in artificial light. Her legs quiver with the excitement of holding the one she loves. Just like mine do, or have in the past. Large feet are the foundation that hold her up, that hold me up, too. A small waist curves down like valleys into the hills that act as hips.

I know this body in and out, because it's mine, or was mine. What I don't understand, is why our mouths are so different. Hers, holds a curve that would make a winding beach road jealous. Mine is straight, cracked with the telling lines of a tongue that has traveled over it many times, the bitter whip of winter winds, the scorching shaft of summer suns. What is that action my mouth desires to do? What is that feeling I want oh so badly to know?

She speaks, "Happiness. Smiling. You don't know it anymore". Did she really just speak to me? I feel as if I were just graced by the presence of a celebrity. Her words of wisdom resonate in my mind. "Happiness? Smiling?" Confusion is more like it. Her brief moment of vocalization is over as she turns back to her own life, her own problems, if she had them, which I'm sure she doesn't. I felt more empty than when I had began, as she turned and walked away from me. They were interlocked, hand-in-hand, heart-in-heart. I wanted her to come back. I wanted them to come back. Time mocks me, the minutes passing by like hours. All I can do is wait here, wait for the day when she comes back. And offers me her hand.