he looks passed me as we speak,
saying something only not to me I think
before he flees back to the office
that is only his office temporarily
and I – still with my back to her –
talk to another colleague
until I hear the frustrated rustle of paper
and the sudden stamp of her feet
as she brushes passed me,
pad and pen in hand,
and into the office that is not his
and slams shut the door,
rage filling the air in her wake
like a rare perfume that hurts to breathe in,
silence a weapon more powerful than words
and aimed at my back with her glares.
This idea we can somehow
share the same space,
breathe the same air,
speak with the same people,
pure folly when all we can ever do
is cling to our sanity
and pray we can survive.
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