I found myself by your
old apartment. I remember
the first time I had trudged
up these stairs, the first time my hands
had touched the bronze ****
to open your front door. Being here,
again, was not the same.
You were not here.
I knocked on the front door, greeted
by your old roommate, who had
the same delightful grin plastered
on his bearded mouth. Shuffling my feet,
He invited me in.
The walls were bare, carefully decorated
with about a dozen records,
a few art pieces, and a large illuminated
OPEN sign. It looked different
than before when you were here.
I sat on the couch as he made me a cup
of coffee; I imagined you laying me
carefully on the stained, white couch.
What would it be like to look
into your eyes again? I want to see
if you could see through my eyes,
and if I could do the same. I let myself
onto your balcony to smoke a cigarette.
The smoke danced around my fingertips
as I leaned against the railing, and looked
over my shoulder, in the corner,
where I remember the first time
I wanted to kiss you.
A few years ago, at one of your
swanky parties, I was standing
on the balcony looking into the party
through the glass doors. You were
across the room, talking to a young woman
with a smile playing on your mouth.
You looked so completely engaged
in what she was saying, and your eyes gleamed
as you looked at her and touched
her softly. What would I have to do
to be that woman, so that
I may grasp your face
between my delicate hands and kiss you,
because of how beautiful you were.
As a bid your old roommate goodbye, I also
said goodbye to the building where I had fallen
for you. Perhaps it is good that I did this,
so that I can let go of whatever I thought
we could have been.