In a district full of identical concrete blocks,
In hard-to-distinguish apartments,
We wake up simultaneously yet apart.
Open our eyes, turn on the light,
Brush away bad breath, wash out bleary sight,
Drink instant coffee, smoke cigarettes,
Lock the doors, leave our flats.
That's what we have in common,
And then, the bus we disappear in.
Still, you get off two stops earlier –
That, at least, I can say for sure.
If you asked for a light, it could break the ice.
And who knows how far it could lead us.
But is there any point?
Amidst concrete blocks,
Faithful to our clocks,
We're already quite close.
No sense in dreaming about being closer,
No sense in dreaming about being in love.
This way, we at least seem parts of a whole.
Proximity would show the difference, that's all.
So let's keep repeating our ritual,
Mechanical, lifeless, yet habitual.
There is some beauty in this scheme of things –
We're stuck in a cycle. Lonely. Human. Beings.