Elevator ride

by Kyle Bryan T. Palparan

The night is a horse; we pirouette around like apparitions beside marble streets, the dark sky—its chandeliers glistening steadily—bow to greet us. The headlights are annoyed when we cross borders and skip through like dandelions. We arrive at 214. The lot is full of crickets and we enter pristine walls. You said goodbye and kissed my forehead as the box container floated out of view.