It was a new job. Retail, late night, small dark room with two doors and red undertones. It was me, some other woman, and you were new.

You came one day and I thought I recognised you, but didn’t speak. On one night, when you shared a poem, I knew for sure.

You spoke of a boy you found cute, who followed your eyes and trailed your heart, till one day he left you without a trace. You loathed him, wished for an explanation, and met my gaze as you spoke. I knew, and so did you. The other woman couldn’t have been too lost too.

I told you to come with me, and we left the room and wandered the labyrinth of empty halls. I wanted not to be heard, but every room was a wall away from someone else. We found one that was tiny and dark as emptiness. There we sat, and closed the door.

As we sat, I embraced you with love. I told you that I wanted to be with you, and tried so much, but was lost amid your silence. Where were you? Where was your fight against the eternal, bounding void? It was me, alone, and I hated you.

I stole your warm, soft embrace as your most loyal lover. I would cherish it, and worship you beyond all doubt: there would be no condition on my love. For the poets were wrong, and love is not the most almighty. It is solitude that conquers all.

And you understood what I had said and didn’t hear what I hadn’t, and from there you left the room. The room collapsed into darkness as you closed the door behind you.

22.IX.23