The Picture Frame

You cannot see past your picture frame. There, inside, are all the things you can bear. There are ordinary girls, each one with something more or less special. Deep down, you wish they formed a new shape, one only, that would reach the form of perfection. You have become a hopeless person, thinking that the perfect shape will never knock at your door. You look too close to see the perfection behind the canvas. Do you see a dim, grey shadow crawling beneath your common characters? If yes, please, guess.

Look! near the lake, two lovers sit

They look happy, do not they?

They are the results of your actions

When you tried to experience

Everything you heard

There is a drawing that you made

When you were older

It is now finished and laid

In another corner of your picture.

Look! there is also an angry face

It's seeking its way out

There are willows and their high branches

Reach the upper frame of the space.

And look! there are more branches

On your black ground,

I hate how they crawl towards me

When I try to reach for you.

How is it real that you give signs

Whenever I need them?

...But then, when I need you most

You draw a wall of lines.

Look! there is she, and she, and she

And she, and he, and she, and he

And he, and she, and he, and you

But why is it not a me in it?

If I could only break the glass of your picture and make you believe that you cannot fill one with hope and then disappear without making an excuse! If I could only let you know the struggles I face when I see you approaching (and hoping that you struggle too from not courting a smile), but no, no, no.

You have another circle in which you spin and I cannot break it even though I have asked you most warmly to let me in.
But only God knows how you feel (and if you really feel anything for a poor closed-up girl like me). I would ask you, but your answers could be uncertain, as if I am not worthy for your sincerity.

What hopes I have encountered and what failures you have provoked! And even now, when I have hurt many hearts and feelings, I still let you hurt mine.

What will this waiting lead to?