Poems To Strangers [ Bo Burnham ]

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"It was just one stupid little poem stuffed into the cushion of a stupid little couch. Now here we are with stupid little feelings."
Cyro sits at Cafe Utopia. Same time everyday, same seat everyday. They always arrive at 7pm and they stay till closing at 1 am. 6 heavenly hours of solitude. The only time when they're not working their shitty retail job that's going no where. The only time they're not sitting in their hell of a household surrounded by the yelling and the bangs and the shouting.
Cyro cherishes every minute. One day when her laptop dies she finds herself writing on notebook paper. Writing poems actually. As they fiddle with their hands, they tuck one of the pieces of paper between the couch cushions. Didn't really think much of it. Until the next day when someone wrote back.
Bo sits at Cafe Utopia. Same time every day, same seat everyday. He always arrives at 10 am and he always stays till about 4pm. 6 heavenly hours of solitude. The only time when they're not on display for the world to gawk at, the only time they're not reminded that their falling out of love with the only person they have loved for the last 7 years.
Bo cherishes every minute. One day Bo finds himself anxiously fiddling with the couch cushions after a heated argument he had on the phone. He didn't think anything of it till he felt something. A piece of paper.