Familiar Stranger

In the bus stop window, the stranger looks back,

a face like my own, but the features lack track.

I search for the spark that once lit up my eyes,

a flicker of laughter, a whisper of lies.

Streetlights flicker, distorting the view,

this silhouette holding the weight of the blue.

I wonder who’s trapped in the glass, so opaque,

and why it feels foreign, a fracture, a break.

For a moment, it stares, then it starts to dissolve,

and I’m left in the silence, the questions unsolved.

A reflection that trembles, a shadow of grace,

a memory fading—who is this face?