My eyes are wretched lenses;

the world I see appears polarized.

Even so, you were all but my iridescence

when all I saw was black and white.

But subtle shifts in your demeanor began playing in loops in my mind.

I caught the signs they led me to find.

Flashes clouded my judgement.

I felt signals you never sent.

Every time I had a change of heart,

it felt like we've long been ghosts of a dead art.

Yet, I filled my book with annotations of you,

wondering if I'd earned a footnote at a little corner in yours too.

Because, for a fleeting moment,

you were all but my iridescence.