I see you everywhere.
I see you on a street with another woman –
I see you wearing black tie at receptions,
Without a glass of champagne –
And at hallways of big, important, silent places…
I see you talking from stage – and at me,
Although – who knows – if it’s me there at all,
Even I can’t tell in the dark…
Or rushing past rapidly,
On terraces of certain members clubs,
So exclusive, that they are mostly empty –
Yet, you never see me.
I see you at prominent people’s funerals…
Yes, that’s me, look, look, over there, look!
In that waving, solemn, faceless… crowd – me,
In my blue dress, my red lipstick, my black shades,
Glancing, looking, gazing, staring – at you.
Must be the shades,
I saw you saying goodbyes and hellos,
I got a picture of you, as a proof,
That I see you,
That I am not going mad.
I want you to see me, too.
But you only see me when I speak.
And that is not seeing –
That is called “listening”.
You do not even see me now –
Or maybe you don’t see me
Simply because you are taller?
Tall people are lucky!
They always look down on everyone else,
While everyone else has to look up.
That is unless I stand on a chair,
However, I do not always have a chair to stand.
I prefer sitting and walking to standing.
I am certainly not so keen on waiting,
Waiting whether you will look down
To pick me up and put me up on a chair,
So that we’re on par,
And can look into each other’s eyes –
Seeing is more difficult than it seems.
It is even harder when you have eyes that see,
And yet you are – or you choose to be –