Shadows

your face bathed in dim light, a millimeter away from me, penetrating eyes, but we never touched.

at the convenience store, you wrapped your arms around me. contrived intimacy. as i fiddled around for my wallet while sneaking glances at the amused cashier, all i could think of was how bothersome you were.

we communicate on a daily basis. short, direct questions and answers. no hassle, no cliches. i'm always disappointed when we meet - all those awkward moments replaced with inane comments.

"of course you will tell me. you will tell me everything." i turned my face away. a man was running for the tram. in his hands was henrik ibsen's the doll house.