Which Is It, Stranger?

You there. Stranger. 

Sometimes, I think I see you more clearly than I see myself.

Or is it that I see myself, reflected?

We're a species of reflection, humans. 

Didn't you know?

Hungry to glimpse something opposite of that unbearable loneliness. Maybe just to see that we're worthy of something else, sometimes. 

I wonder at your point of view. 

What ground your gaze covers day-in, day-out.

A voracious perspective.

Which of ours matters the most?

If at all.

Maybe the lines can blur, this moral high checked by lows of shame, but 

You do not drop your eyes.

You meet my gaze,

Eyes so strong, so 

Steady.

The images you show me, beyond your iris,

Bear no guilt.

Flickers of regret, missed opportunity,

These I see, behind the curtain 

Of your sense of self,

The light 

Behind 

Your

Stare.

Do you see me, stranger? 

Through the windows of your glass house?

In this looking glass I call your eyes, I can't tell if you're understanding,

Or losing me in the pit of your pupils.

Do you lose time this way, too?

Wondering at those depths.

Pondering the void.

Will you find anything?

That is,

If you search.

It's now,

Staring into this 

Silver-laced existence,

Boring into this 

Oddly smooth uncertainty,

Looking into these 

Twin

Mirrors hanging,

That I think the 

Ultimate question is,

Will I?