I'M Sorry My Roommate Is Such An Explicative Poem by Audrey Stephenson

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.