I walked into the bathroom,
ran into her yet again
at the witching hour
and smiled solemnly.

"You're not looking your best,"
I said.

Her smile fell just a hint,
but she kept up her head.

"You're quite the beautiful
disaster yourself."

I don't think our eyes
are smiling anymore,
but her red lips remain upturned.

She's pale.
Her eyes are dark underneath.
She probably couldn't sleep;
well, it's why I was there.

We stood staring in silence,
each evaluating the other
as enemies,
as friends.

I wonder when the last time
was that we saw each other
with the same thoughts
in mind;

the last time when we agreed
with the other;

when we looked our best;
when crying;
when laughing;

just gazing at each other
on the same wavelength.

But she's still smiling
without smiling,
and so am I.

"Goodbye," I nod to her.

She nods back.
"I'll see you again,"
she whispers with a smile.