In between levels

There are those who wish to stay on the ground floor. With an eye on the doorway, they wear their heart on the sleeve and get all suddenly carried away by the wind. Easy-comers and -goers, who leave and forget locks unlocked.

Then there's those who prefer looking out from the window from higher up; hands holding thin air, cup of tea for rainy days. Never did they use the stairs, their head's always on the clouds, any way.

Not least important is the underground crew. They met in the shadows, saw clearer than ever, in candlelight they cherish intimacy.

I, for some reason, never found myself in elevators, missed the buttom, got blocked by closing doors. Managed to jump out, not without much effort, and missed the floor;

kept my heart always inbetween levels.