My Distant Other

The linoleum tiles gleam today With somebody's many tears. I know not who is crying, Yet I know it is not me. Rush hour comes and the tears are covered With dirt and other debris By those who neither know nor care Whose tears they trample. The droplets of a soul Blend with debris Tracked by so many running feet. Now, the feet are gone. No more come to replace them. It is night and there is silence For an almost perfect moment. Then, the figure stumbles into the building. Its broken voice speaks no words, Yet the mournful sounds indicate That it is looking for someone. Its actions indicate That it is looking for me, For it is my distant other, Left behind and dulled to nearly nothing During many years of loneliness, Nearly forgotten as times changed. Yet I remember its sweetness And it makes me proud. I wish I could have seen it grow Or raised it as my own. In a life I never had, That would have been its fate. Yet now, I must see it Distraught and otherwise unwell, As if it had been broken In a million little pieces. And now, I must remember That I must stay seperated From my distant other For a couple more years at least. More and more, I want to be With my distant other.