As of last night you're my roommate's ex-boyfriend.
I don't really know you all that well.
To be honest, I'm not even positive that I know your name.
We're in the parking garage waiting for the north elevator to open.
I don't look at you.
I pretend that I don't know you.
As far as I'm concerned, it's 2 am and your eyes are red from smoking pot, not crying.
The doors open and we enter the elevator.
You press floor number three, and as I reach my hand to press my floor, I find myself recoiling it because you press it for me.
We know we know.
Nothing is said.
Much conversation seems to happen without words.
Floor number one: I'm staring at my feet. I'm trying not to look at you.
Floor number two: I'm digging my hands into my pockets. Still trying not to look at you.
Floor number three: My eyes float up to hold yours for one brief, red moment and you walk through the metal frame.
Floor number four: I'm starting to feel my heart unravelling.
We are one in the same.
We are recreations.
We are coping mechanisms.
We don't exist.
I'm so sorry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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