green line: I lean against the door.
I’m not supposed to.
I do it anyway.
Through the music I pump in my ears to keep tears at bay I hear
two men discussing architecture,
loudly, as if they had already
constructed walls around themselves to hold their voices in,
unrestrained behind brick and glass.
I watch one of the men sketch quickly with his left hand.
red line: where everything feels familiar, even
the girl who puts on a single glove with which to hold on to the metal railing.
She doesn’t turn it inside out when she puts it back in her pocket and I wonder, then
what’s the point?
I feel blank,
and emerge in darkness,
and I feel clueless as I try
to read the map without anyone else seeing
that I have only the slightest idea of where I’m going.
I climb the back stairs and
it’s one of those nights.
The rain starts with the click of the door behind me,
falling the way
I try not to anymore.