who exactly are you?

you're a hard

book

to read,

she tells me, flipping

through

the pages,

turning to the back

cover,

the front,

the index and table

of contents.

scribbling

notes in the margins.

earmarking

and underlining,

points of interest

or dismay.

she thumbs through

the photos,

asking a million

questions,

that i don't answer.

i  don't know where you

begin,

or where you end.

who are you, exactly

she says,

staring deeply into 

my eyes.

shaking my limbs.

who are you?