Walls Between Words

Through cracked blinds, I watch her hands shuffle papers,

a ritual silent as the closed door she hides behind.

Trash bags at my feet, the world smells damp

and bitter with unasked questions.

The door closes slow — deliberate, like a pause

between two people who never met.

I don’t know her name, her voice, the shape of her days,

just this quiet separation, a fence made of shadows.

We share air but never space,

strangers trapped in rooms that face each other,

words caught in a hallway that never heard footsteps.