There is an imbalance
in this place we meet.

Where you come to escape,
and I come to escape–
from different things.

Where I offer my soul,
to place in your care.

But you swipe it away
to cherish some tragedy,
or fill some void
that I cannot.

I think to myself: 
how laughable.

I think to myself:
perhaps a fresh offering.

And I refresh–
to see if someone
might replace you.

So the weight of my existence
can be felt
in this weightless place
where we meet.

Only to once again discover
the nature of this imbalance–
in which the mass of my soul 
carries so little weight
to so many.