Midnights and Bad decisions

It's dark; it creeps up on you. You think of it for days until you must visit. It treats every guest, knowing who will stay and who won’t. My love lives in forgotten fragments of your being, the ones you’d rather not recall. I haunt this place and have for decades, collecting hopes into one centerpiece, set just so. I show you life through tinted, broken windows: No matter how unreachable they seem your dreams are dreams after all. My love creaks with those old wooden stairs; each step reminds you of the places I occupy in your mind. The cinammon smell you have forgiven but will not forget. This is the house of you, me, and us. You pass by it every day. My love is the abandoned home you've lost.

Intimacy by Jean-Paul Sartre

Gerrit Komrij

There's no room for more.

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