I love apartments because they keep us
safe from each other, apart.
And because, in them, I’m a part
of something bigger,
an anonymous tribe all protecting the same
block of painted wall.
I am a scared, solitary creature who needs
and I need you to find my anonymous door
and knock on it
and show me we’re a part of something together.
free photo from Unsplash
I want to hear your song. Actually,
I probably don’t. Not right now, at least.
All that rhythm from how your parents
talked and cooked and fought,
the melody of your world’s surprises,
your harmony of hopes and depressions
and tattered love—how could I relate?
Or maybe it’s all too familiar. Either way,
it’s a little much for a Saturday evening
in bed with my laptop.
The nice thing about a picture
is how a click becomes eternal.
I can be beautiful for a click.
I can make you want me
or at least be jealous of me
for 1/400th of a second.
Then I can frame that moment
in what used to be a window
into my life. And if I never
let you see behind it, maybe
you’ll keep wanting me forever.