Your hair has grown long
in the time that has passed
between this time I saw you
and the last.
You told me I was shorter,
than before, somehow.
Then pause, and then asked
if I had found a job yet.
I just smiled and nodded,
still unsure if I wanted
to commit to a conversation,
was afraid of being haunted.
The last time I saw you,
you were laughing with me.
You were crying, too,
as you handed me your key.
It had ended well,
no hard feelings or anger,
but somehow that didn’t help
in this meaningless banter.