Illusion

There is an illusion that what we notice
Is meant to be noticed,
That every glance holds weight,
That every shift in the wind is a whisper just for us.

We trace patterns in the chaos,
Turn echoes into omens,
Convince ourselves that fate is winking
Through the cracks in the ordinary.

But what if meaning is just something we make?
What if the signs we follow
Are only our own reflections,
Staring back at us through borrowed light?

What if that song playing at the right moment
Was just a coincidence,
And the stranger’s lingering gaze
Wasn’t lingering at all?

And yet…
Would the world feel the same
Without these illusions we cling to?
Without the comfort of believing
That what we see was meant to be seen?

Perhaps it doesn’t matter—
Perhaps we need the meaning,
The serendipity, the signs,
Even if they were never placed there for us.

For what is life without the dream
That something, somewhere,
Is speaking only to you?

~ Mia

 

---

About the Author:
Michelle Cuello (Mia) is a writer and artist exploring themes of healing, identity, and emotional depth. Her upcoming books, Ashes Before Dawn and The Air Never Breathed This Heavy, blend poetic storytelling with personal truth, offering reflections for those who ache, heal, and rise.