I never knew the word ‘hi’ could become sandpaper

Rough from overuse, scraping my tongue raw

Livelihoods, years of anxiety, a moment of victory

Boil down to two questions

What you do, where you live

That is all you become in a sea of anonymity

You are all and you are none, hiding from the rain

Desperately clinging to semblances of connection

Prodding at a joke until it decomposes

Nothing grows old when it’s all you have

You laugh until you can’t, smile lines etched

Into your supposedly adult face, chiseled into skin

It rains until you aren’t sure if you’re walking or swimming

Typhoons and hurricanes of pleasantries

Whirling around you, every one steals a bit of light

You watch it leave your chest, sucked into a blur

And you march on, keep paddling, stay afloat

It’ll all get better tomorrow

You return to a room like and unlike your own

Your presence half lingering, a ghost who’s almost gone

Snoring in the background, you sit on clean sheets

No space for both pillows, you’ve made a nest instead

You close your eyes to city sounds and another’s breathing

Green light cast across your face, the only light in the room

You’ve been extinguished, burned out with introductions

As you drift off, you feel the imprint of the word

Blood still flowing from the cuts it made, sharp edges

And brace yourself for the sting of sandpaper once more