the foyer

when i saw you pass by me i wanted to yell out hello to you, but instead just let you turn the corner, into the elevator, where i would be following just a couple minutes later.

and how fortunate that i didn't lock my bike up right there, or get caught at another light through times square as to avoid the difficult question of who goes through the revolving door first?

or, would we share? and then i wonder exactly which elevator you went up in and if, when i went down an hour later if you would be coming down for a mid-morning prayer or croissant.

and why, out of the thousands of buildings in new york city do i have to visit this one twice in one week and why is there an increasing need to say i'm sorry, to hear you are too.

i feel this physical urge to list all of the swipes you took at my dignity and safety, to let you feel the weight of a threat and then to hear you say you understand that was wrong and not a good thing and has taken a serious toll on my sense of well-being.

and so i almost ran after you. but to what avail? you might do the same, recount all of the ways i didn't love you and took advantage of your kindness.

it all might have ended in a screaming match at the martini bar a few blocks away where you once called me and lied to me through tears about an affair that you had just to get me to admit that i still loved you.

perhaps i'll see you again tomorrow.