Sitting in a yellow room
I look at your face and your mouth.
Your lips move and I hear your story,
I'm interested, maybe,
only for a while.
I like to talk about myself,
I talk and I see you smile.
But maybe you get bored soon
and we're sharing nothing but time
together, sitting across each other.
Two hours pass and your duty calls
or maybe it is saturation.
It could be that you've had your fill
and need to leave me right now.
I wonder how I'm always left
empty, somehow.
I close the door after you,
the door with the white paint.
It stares at me with an expression frozen
blank,
articulating nothing.
How is it that the closed door
seems to understand me
more, than those I cherish conversations with.
Are you my friend or just some time
spent, in discovering myself?