At night in the office,

I watch you watch me.

The smell of coffee and vanilla

lingers like a cigarette stick

we refuse to finish.

We talk about love, life,

and all the boring intervals,

but we never really talk about us.

 

The coffee in the pantry

taste like old paper and broken promises.

I look at you across the elevator,

and think about all the things

that we can do if only you are mine,

but love is not selfish,

and what we have is.

 

Outside, as we part ways,

we can think about how much

we love each other,

but we both know that

we have to leave it as it is.