(Untitled)

(Written September 14-15, 2011, over midnight.)

I am a little of you, wrapped in all that could,
I am a shadow at night, falling where you once stood.
You are all of me, wrapped in all that is,
You are the dancing light that casts me remiss.

I am the faded remnants on a canvas of old,
I am the inconsequential details of a story once told.
You are the artist that sketches anew,
You are the writer of life, and of love, too.

I am the pages of science once lingered on,
I am the torn hems of clothes once worn.
You are the learner of a hundred new books,
You are the smile unconcerned with looks.

I am the passion of a forgotten dance,
I am a lesson taught by fickle chance.
You are the rhythm and pitch of melody,
You are the experience of destiny.