In Transit in Paris
Written by: Siddhartha
An early morning, after a night which went on for too long,
As we look at our cups of coffee,
Always looking down, eyes never meeting,
Despite the morning chill.
We wait together, fingers lost in motion,
We look around, but never at each other.
I ask if you are hungry,
You look at the plum blossoms and nod absently.
Our fingers brush briefly, and tingle our senses,
But we never acknowledge the touch, and continue in our voids.
The food gets cold, the Paris chill strong,
But we never eat, just wait, wait for the time to heal.
I hear voices around, but they mean nothing to me,
But I keep hearing, hearing the unknown.
My questions remain unanswered, my feelings lost,
I wait for you to talk, to help me understand,
But you remain silent, lost in your thoughts.
Its time to leave our transit point,
But our life remains still.
We leave the coffee table alone, leaving everything intact.
We move, but do not move,
Just two souls,
Lost in our own worlds.
