business has been slow for many weeks,
streets deserted and air polluted,
and for the first time in years,
i switch off the light to my open sign.
after locking the door,
i realize you’re still here,
sitting on the counter and swinging your legs while you watch me.
i cannot thinnk about what it means.
i ask you if you want to go,
assuring i would harbour no ill feelings
if you wanted to be with your other friends;
but you assure me that i am your best friend
and remind me of how we kill time so efficiently
together.
i do not think about what that means.
i feel exhaustion in my bones,
but i never sleep well,
not alone.
so you offer to lay with me,
on the comfy cot i have int he corner of my kitchen,
where i usually lie alone to take a break from pretending;
i will not think about what that could mean.
i lie down next to you and it feels like a dream;
you are the most beautiful person i have ever seen, but i cannot say it straight.
i want to reach out and hold you,
but i know you wouldn’t like that,
because some of our scars are the same,
so i ball my hands into fists and will myself to sleep.
(i think i hear you coo at me,
wish me a soft good night,
but i mist already be dreaming...)
no, no, my real dream i far worse, actually;
i’m allowed to think about it here,
allowed to touch you freely,
allowed to kiss your face,
but none of it is real and it’s blurred around the edges,
so i startle myself awake.
somehow, this is even worse;
there you are,
pretty face soft with sleep in muted light and haloed in red,
with your feet tangled with mine,
and your hand on my thigh,
and i can hear my heart do a flip of its own accord in the pot on the stove,
so i untangle myself from you to hastily slap on the lid.
i cannot think about what it means.
