before/after

i had been in your house before you lived there. i thought about living there, i liked the narrow staircase, liked the upstairs, but it wasn't available. the old lady who owned it was goingt o live there and not rent it.

now i walk through the house in my mind and each square centimeter is a heartache each piece of air has been breathed out by you and choked on by me. and the staircase has become a waterfall of expectations and i am drowning at the bottom and you have climbed out your bedroom window. i wonder if the old lady died. i wonder if she drowned under the waterfall like me.

and the middle is just a blur, just the difference between black and white, just the space between peace and pain, just two points and the shortest distance was never crossed.