VERSIONS

Bright eyes

Lonely sighs

Drowned with feelings of who am I?

Or where am I?

My legs, my arms

They don’t feel like mine

Like I’m partially in a dream

While my other half is in an unknown realm

The driver of the bus, who is my spirit, is

Conscious of the halves and their existence but still, the driver navigates on their own accord

No backseat drivers, please!

Physically aching

My body silently complains it’s seen pasts and futures beyond its time

Multiverses even…

I wonder what the other version of me is like

Is she kind?

Is she calm?

Or is she ready to fight?

Living comfortably in the heart of the city, perhaps.

Spilling overpriced coffee while debating politics with pretentious hacks

Her true self is hidden in this life, also

However, her presence is always felt, it never lacks

The world flips upside down, and I see another version of her

She’s in fetal position, hair in her face…just one curl

Holding on to a brown paper bag with fingerless gloves

It’s cold outside

You can see her breath

She is brittle and frail and seemingly unloved

Simultaneously, I see yet another version of her

In this one, she is in a rush

Periodically looking down at her watch and her face, it was flushed

I observe the time of day; there is no sun

Only a moon

And the night,

It is still

Then, the screech of tires and a loud, piercing, shrill

And just like that…

One version of me was killed…

Next universe, please!