you've grown so big
I can't even recognize
the who in you.
I cannot pinpoint
the sum total,
give some description
I am accustomed to complete biographies,
the synopses of the lives of famous and important people.
it had not occurred to me that such pictures
were airbrushed and perfected.
I've spent a life hanging on the words of others,
their brief explanations of me,
who I seem,
lapping it up to
see how I might be seen.
words fail to adequately capture
the intricacies of you.
they create fictions
in which the holes
fill in with broad brushstrokes,
the mental default setting for Person.
yet to me,
you are dynamic and unknowable.
the you in you
I can only ever sense
those pieces which I assume
as like myself.