They tell us that the phoenix rises from the ashes, but how often do they mention the pain that she goes through in burning in the first place? never stops her from flying high. never stops her truth in burning bright. She soars, she falls, she burns, she soars...would that I could make her my lover, for it seems only she could stand in my own endless cycle...and who else could fly that high with me? who else would forget monotony and go for great? who else would treat their own pain as the necessity for greater joy and purpose that it is?

still...even in my mirror images embrace, burning as was meant for me, i feel, my heart would be elsewhere, wishing for the smile of a quiet kind of special that I'll never measure up to.