The Flipside of You

Oh, it's all about that you you used to be, it's all about a dusty you in the back drawers of a history that once was the now. As dear as it may be, you have to afford the luxury of looking back on the present whose label suddenly changed to history. It's always been there, laying within, the present that is. A content waiting to be revealed, once the pretty bow of the present is broken. How can I put it this?I long for a you whose echo no longer resounds, whose presence no longer mirrors mine.  Perhaps I should chase away the ghost of that memory and let time wash away the shore of my soul with its timely waves.Oh, but my feet will still thread the same sand, my hands will reach out for the same foamy waves and my eyes will have the same thin horizon line to rest upon. It's strangely odd one never changes and the other does; must be some strange twist of faith that allows such difformities and incongruity; I finally found it: incongruous you!but, hey, incongruous me as well. I resent change as much as the desert resents drought. I think of that you as if it were an instance frozen in time, an independent unaltered structure that I'm trying to transfer to reality - well, from my conceptual world. Ugh, I feel like this rambling is nonsense and that it doesn't lead me anywhere except for that trotted trail where I could potentially find you. 

I don't want the you you've become, I want that historical you, that fretting vibrating you whose song spoke of life, poetry, exaltation, dedication for the other and well, yes, love. I know the trail, whose ground my feet fearfully touch but I can't go there anymore; for the trail is deserted now and invisible walls climb up to the sky and back creating an unbreakable seal. But I'm a daughter of light and I wish the light of my you shines through the light of your you "because between skin and skin, there is only light". (John Fowles)