Someone

Someone, Who will sit next to me. Although begrudgingly. Not friendly. We still call each other sometimes. She hangs up and I wonder… Who was I talking to? Someone who doesn’t even try to act friendly. Obscure. A decaying person. Someone, Who will sit next to me. Must be in my head. You can’t tell much from pictures. She hates me. Someone, Who will sit next to me. It hurts, even though she might hate me. Finally, we are relaxing. She is tapping her toes. She hands me soup. Like I am decaying. She is, Someone. Soup. Full of vapor. She has work tomorrow. So she leaves.