He means very little to me-
on a regular, uninterrupted day.
But when he talks to me,
he is maliciously welcoming.
He's toxically enduring
and determinedly warm.

It's possible Stockholm Syndrome,
it's definite injustice.
Sweet, sweet injustice.
Sweet interruptions.
My sweet bitterness to his sweet nonchalance.
And then;
sweet realisation that I may not be alright,
but merely distracted.