«It is profound, the sense of longing for…» — Summary

vantesaladDreamy

It is profound, the sense of longing for something you never had, but you don't even know what it is. But you also know that you are never going to have it. "what could this be?" I keep looking into the mirror and ask myself, I look at the average person looking at me through the reflecting glass, and still I do not see myself. "is this body all I have got?" When others look at me they see the outer shell, looking down at their feet and fixing my glasses up to the crown of my nose, but they don't see the inside of my head which has never corresponded with how I look or how I feel. Maybe it is this sense of disconnectedness, which makes me feel like, oh, I cannot be here, this isn't me. But it has never been and it will never be. I have never belonged and I think I never will. Maybe it is this longing which I look for in strangers' eyes, that some one could extend their hands to touch the intangible parts of me, see how it feels to be me, and yet do not scare themselves away.

This bleak nothingness that amounts to nothing, it consumes me -

It shreds like leaves

In autumn brown hues

Azure blues It falls

Like the hailstorm cracks and breaks oh, is that how, is that how you shatter? shatter my glasswork heart

poetry escapes through your tears and your tears escape through those eyes

eyes closed to hide the rivers flowing your hair is flowijg with the wind through that window

the window where your smile was used to snap me apart like a rubber band

you pulled too fast too hasty

as we flipped out through the crevices in the window sill

its not about you its about myself this time

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The speaker feels a deep ache for something they have never had and can't name. Looking in the mirror, they see an "average person" who doesn't feel like them. Others notice only the outer shell, while the speaker's inner world never matches the body or the face. That gap leaves a lasting sense of not belonging, and a hope that a stranger might touch the "intangible parts" of them without being scared off.

The second half turns more fragmented and image-heavy. Autumn leaves, hailstorms and a "glasswork heart" suggest something fragile breaking. A figure appears, perhaps a lover, with tears, closed eyes, windblown hair and a smile that once snapped the speaker "like a rubber band." The poem suggests a relationship that ended or slipped away. The final line, "its not about you its about myself this time," pulls the focus back to the speaker's own search. The mood is lonely and melancholy, but also honest and quietly tender.

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