Self Aware

She looks at me unblinking, staring as if trying to find something, as if trying to figure out if I'm holding out on her somehow.

I stare back at her trying to find all the answers in her eyes/our eyes but I find more of a kaleidoscope than a soul, find more of a journal of prayers than a book of adventures, 

finding more of a wishlist/bucket list of things to do beforehand, rather than things accomplished. She is all over the place restless, 

wakes up before I do/we do and stares at a sealing of stars, looking into the Milky Way, 

trying to connect all the stars like dots hoping to lead them down a path to get them out of the labyrinth but all she's really doing is getting motion sick trying to hold down her dinner from last night, all I'm trying to do is sleep but all I do is feel like I'm floating.

Floating instead of dreaming and dreaming instead of flying.

She would rather have her head stuck in the clouds, while I would rather find a way to lie down in them.

I do not understand her/myself/my own mind and that is why I write poetry