Apart

I enter, laugh, am hugged hard while she
and I smile. Friends together four months,
apart
and back together. Perhaps it will be different
this time.

Five minutes later I stand by the elevators
hearing voices ring against the stainless steel doors.
She and another, eyes wide, laughing, heads tilted,
mermaid hair streaming.
Off two steps, half-there, half-not
a seeming imposition, I stand
silent
wondering what it is about me
that I do not - can not - join these talks.
When she and I are alone it seems
we are sisters.
When she and I and x or y stand near each other
I am out of the equation
off
apart
stranger.

They don't do it on purpose
but I become a stranger
tag-along
pushing myself into the conversation.
When they are in the suite
I am an interloper
in my home.

I know. I am different. Somehow in a way
I cannot yet define.
I search for the other one that is different
the other one who stands just outside the groups
of two or three
and does not join but waits
a entity, separate and unique
thinking, watching, observing, alright alone
but also desiring to know
a similar soul.