Reflections

In the rearview, I glimpse my own eyes,

heavy with shadows, old roads winding

like questions unanswered,

each turn a choice I left unmade.

The glass is smeared, a reflection of years

flickering like a streetlamp at dusk,

every face I’ve passed blurs into one

a collage of the lives I barely touched.

I wish to see clearer, to turn back,

yet here I am, facing a future

that shifts like headlights, warm, cold—

what did I leave behind on the way?