To The Neighbour on my Left

Love seems like a foreign neighbour;

always there but I never had a chance to meet yet.

I could bring over some oranges,

share a few slices

spit the remaining seeds into the earth and stay around to watch them grow.

I could offer to help out with dinner;

learn their silences and smiles,

perhaps getting comfortable in each other's presence without noise.

Would a simple knock and a "hello, I've always been beside you,

but we've never crossed paths yet. Would you like to come around

for tea?" keep them around?

I decide to knock

something dark and stabbing seizes my arms full of oranges,

and I leave the bowl outside the door.

I hope they got my gift.

I try to ease my chest.

the dark, stabbing feeling crawls into my throat,

I'll try to introduce myself in another 7 years.

Maybe I'll get a neighbour less lonely in a few years time—

maybe as popular as Solitude on the floor below us.

Love, how are you such a stranger to me>

But I've always known your existence ever since

I first heard your name?

What a haunting name, Love, you have.

Please do come over if you want.

If not, you'll find me on the floor below

with everyone else.

From, you neighbour on the right.