When I watch your face fall again and again.

The air feels full

of regret

like air that washes away the taste

of your tongue

and our nights feeling spent. 

So distracted by each other that we no longer breathed apart. 

I am quiet. Waiting. 

I am seething inside. 

This deep feeling of regret

full of your sadness 

like a bowl of noodle soup

that a friend made

and brought to your doorstep. 

Grief. 

The neighbourhood takes on an identity 

of a lover.