We are strangers connected by the comfort of familiarity.  It’s peculiar how the inadvertent takes us to a complete circle.  That feeling of connection; that longing for a love we are not supposed to have.

Her face is nothing more than the image of the desired reflection; those eyes speaking the truth behind her smile.  Light and shadows confound the lines of time; I want to see her but reality denies my wish.  All we will ever have are our conversations and the chisel of poetry to sculpt our imaginations.

Published by David W. Jones

David is a writer and blogger who enjoys creating literary expressions about everyday life. He is a published poet and currently doing reviews, creative writing, and storytelling. David's interests include narrating point-of-view scenarios, documenting non-fiction, and writing scripts for film and television. View all posts by David W. Jones