you live between atriums
split somewhere
I don’t hate you
I don’t love you either
I wish you well
well away from me
a lily, a butterfly
delicate like the fuse
to your unconsciousness
deep brown but not hollow
just empty
not poured out, just never filled
not an enemy, not a friend either
I saw myself as a plant blossoming through a crack in the concrete floor looking up enviously at the plants in the atrium that were chosen to be there. I’m on the outside looking in, not entirely convinced I want to join them and live their life, but filled with wonder by the prospect of it all.
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A. VDB 
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