Mirage.

I stand alone.

I see the girl, sitting on top of a water tank, with her head in her hands. Suddenly, she jerks up and looks at the moon and then at me.
What is she thinking?
Oh, it is that girl who comes out to the terrace to burn her lungs every two hours. And in regular intervals, she looks up at the sky and counts airplanes, instead of days, instead of stars.
We both wonder,
Is the other person the lone wolf the moon keeps waiting for?
I don't know.
She sits alone.
And, I stand alone.
We both see each other.
And, we see the loneliness too. We see it in each other.