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On the balcony

The glass door slides shut.
Behind it lies a wholesome, throbbing vitality.
A roomful of pleasant exchanges,
polite noddings and gracious handshakes,
drinks in hand, anecdotes on the lips.
Out here, a mere glass door away,
lies a different world,
where the background tattle of etiquette
and an almost familiar music,
is all but mute.
Out here lies a world of unruffled peace,
where moonlight plays against moonshadow,
unbroken, for once,
by the unsubtle harsh glare of a yellow streetlight,
a world of serenity and quiet solitude,
introspecting upon itself.
I stand in silent, enchanted contemplation,
forgotten drink in hand,
as the moments are stitched together
on the greyed fabric of the night,
and i am a mute part of the weave.
The glass door slides shut.
Soft footsteps approach me,
carrying the faintest whiff of the discarded room
with its smoke and drink and honed conversations.
The night swallows it all,
as you put your arm in mine,
and say, "I missed you..."

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