Shut the door quietly,
out of Adam’s apartment,
walk to the gold-mirrored elevator,
my reflection framed in the warp of its mirror:
just a little girl at night,
on a balcony,
my long knotted hair,
eyes squinting
up.
I don’t go straight home,
wander a bit in the night,
think about how quickly people can change,
act in ways you don’t expect.
An unpredicted storm that
leaves people out,
windswept,
in the cold.