Looking over her shoulder
in the cafe
I saw what she jotted
into her unlined notebook:
“You
do not exist.”

I didn’t know
if the note was for me
for herself
or someone else
who might be spying on her words
(and her cleavage).

I didn’t know much
I realized.
I was sure
only of my doubt.
Did I even like her cleavage
as much as I thought I did?

Soon afterwards
I didn’t
do much of anything
anymore.