Today, like on every other day,
I passed the place where you will live.
This place so close to mine
that if I listened hard,
I swear I’d be able to hear
your bed moving.

The windows are empty now,
but soon will act as membrane
to your world.
Soon I’ll catch glimpses of smiles
imagined from shadows on the ceiling.
Projecting imaginations vulgar
and intrusive
but I can’t help myself.

And I think of the girls,
who perhaps wouldn’t mind
to share my company,
and never will,
because I can’t repeat
such experiments forever.


Today, I passed the place
where we used to live.
Where I couldn’t help
but think of a different future.

I thought through different windows,
whilst you did your best
to live in the spaces in between.

You slowly poured yourself
into empty bits of me,
and I didn’t notice.

Not gratefully.



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