You, there. Staring back at me. Your gaze is unbroken, your smile ever-preserved. From within that golden frame, and from behind the glass to which you are contained, you are silent, and unwaivering. You don't smile, you don't frown. I may say something stupid or make a face, but you're cold--completely void of any reaction. You are not the person I knew...You are a stranger I have invited into my home.

It's easy to forget about their pleasent laughter, their irrational nervousness, the wrinkles from the corner of their eyes when all I have to see is you. You are but a poor substitute, a replica which fails to mimmick. There is no feeling to the back of your head, no sound to your voice, and you certainly don't ask for one more minute.

But if there is anything that you are not, it is unwelcome. I know it's likely I won't have to beg you to stay, but I think I would be even more crazy if you left. Please don't mistake my grumbling for ingratefulness.

I guess, deep down, all that I want is the day where I no longer have to speak to you, even the few words we share, because your presence, though appreciated, will no longer be functional, but simply decorational. You may dread it, stranger, but I will relish it.