You rose like a moon, bringing me new tides and as such I rise, I swell, I reach up and cannot touch you. Your face, as the moon, shows me just one side. Your words, well chosen, have much to imply. My three eyes, my analytical and neurotic mind, my fragile and naive heart—can they ever know you?
What are your intentions, expectations, motivations? What may I expect from you of which I have already come to desire? What would I want that I’m not willing and eager to give? Where do we stand? Must I still these waters and become a mirror to reflect the cosmic seas? Should I dive to the depths where another mirror exists? The one that reflects not the self but all others? Where do my answers lie? In the depths or the heavens? What fear and anxiety is it that keeps me from just asking you?