The elevator has its own story
as it witnesses the queue
of the rush in the morning.
Right here I am,
blaming my not-a-morning person trait
for coming late.
You never seem to be out of my sight
as I capture the back of your posture,
standing only a few people ahead of me.
If the elevator could see,
it would only see my urge
to engulf all this damn awkwardness;
where silence is prominent
and it is well pronounced by the unsaid "good morning"
If the elevator could feel,
It would empathize with how the meaningless grimace on my face
has always been a regret answer
of when people asked
if things ever happened for real.
The elevator has its own story
as it witnesses the girl who is dying
from hiding her feelings
Jakarta, August 26th 2022
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