If only her face appeared in dreams alone,
If only she were a hazy morning memory,
A spectre drifting from my door as I awake,
Her smile just mine reflected in a mirror.
To be her friend is to recall my loss at every turn.
So much happiness locked away by faith.
A trust, to which I have the key,
The key I'm afraid to touch.
It's innocent enough, that key.
And in my dreams I hear it turning.
Over and over in my mind,
Yet even there I never turn that handle.
For that small step might open love,
Or split Pandora's box,
Spilling its contents,
And tearing my very life in two.
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