I have two left feet
and make a faux pas.
We're in the middle of a crowd, but this time
there's no bubble to
keep them out.
Who are you texting?
I feel surrounded.
The stories are tinged with disappointment;
the jokes are not funny but sad.
Every question is a hidden judgment,
and every answer is a veiled threat.
You are no
longer you, so I
suppose that I, too, have changed.
Like, on a road, the double white line
divorced by a sudden median,
we have disappeared from each other.
I came for you, for us, and, leaving,
find only shadows,
whispers in the wind.