My 3pm

December 2025

Every single time, I’m used to thinking
So what could be next?

This time, as I watch you pull over,
step out of your car,
light a cigarette,
and turn your head toward my window,
I find myself asking it again:
So what could be next?

I had grown accustomed to seeing you take the turn,
passing slowly in your Duster.
So it startles me now to see you stop instead,
to smoke there rather than on your balcony.

I watch you from a distance you cannot see from,
and I tell myself, It’s just today.
But days pass. A week, and more.
And I keep watching you do the same thing.

I don’t blink, afraid I might miss the moment
you turn and look.
I wish I could see you every day
or maybe that you’d do this every day,
without ever growing tired.

But anxiety creeps in.
How long will you keep doing this?
One day, you’ll stop.
One day, you’ll simply pass by.

And there will come a day
when I no longer live here at all.
If what I imagine is true
if you are pausing to catch a glimpse of whatever
you will tire soon enough.
And I’ll begin to see you pass by again,
just pass by,
without looking this way.

So what’s next?

You’ll drive past slowly,
and I won’t even cross your mind as you go.

As I write this,
I’m standing here, gazing out through the same window,
toward the same place
where you park your car
hoping this is just my mind wandering,
a harmless hallucination
that you don't even notice my absence
once I disappear from here.