we’re standing in front of the theatre. they’re playing love,
a misunderstanding, a dream
that’s been killed by living it too much.
it is mostly trivial, this story of two people
desperately describing the sun to each other,
while only being able to point at shadows.
seldom they saw the same silhouettes on the ground.
is that ever enough?

it was enough for joy to linger,
as dusk painted your room in shades of red,
your walls zebra-striped. this eternal sunset.
it was enough.

we saw it, briefly,
looked away,
and walked in different directions.

and love remains
a misunderstanding.