i'm the third-- the third
kilometer,                 the third wheel;
somehow it feels as if i belong.
i'm different to them, but still   one.

the three of us,      laying facing up
                staring at a night sky         imperfect
and          not         beautiful, not the
post card stars we see still but
       c l o u d s    o f   p o l l u t i o n  
illuminated by the artificial ambers
      of a bustling asian city
dying          below.

we stare at the clouds,    lying in
comfortable
silence, till i break it.   a random fact,
that the clouds we saw as close were
three    kilometres away.

a memory i  
            doubt they remember,
but immortalise in these     words, words
      they'll see.

we were stupid, are still young
  and dumb--
we         splurged not on     poisons
but on jokes,
   ironic water costing limbs.
we splurged not on the
      clubs and       drinks
                    but on snacks in the
   supermarkets below,
sorethroats gone from our worries
          tomorrow.

i was third kilometre, now
three      thousand      kilometres
away from them.    i thank the
orange clouds of pollution and
the plastic      grass we had slept
      on that i'll be the third
kilometer once again,


we wait for october.