Between Floors

The doors hiss shut, a soft, steel sigh.

I'm alone, the hum begins its low drone.

My reflection blurs, a passing eye,

in the polished metal, all my own.

Without thinking, my hand goes to my hair.

A quick push back, a small, vain fix.

Caught myself, then dropped it, standing there.

Between floors, playing my own little tricks.

Just a momentary lapse, a brief relief.

From being seen, from being judged or known.

A flicker of self, past all belief.

Then the doors open, and the moment's flown.