work is her salvation.
burrowed in behind the locked
door of the office.
she needs the desk, the screen
the phones.
the quietness of Saturday
and sunday
alone.
no office mate to close the door
behind.
no boss wondering where
his glasses
or keys are.
she finds strange solace, bent
at the cold machines,
texting, or talking to whomever
she wants to.
no guilt, no fear, no worries
anymore
about being caught
with all her lies.
her long hands on
on the keyboard
she wiles away the hours.
wishing dark would come.
it's not about money, or ambition.
it's about having nothing
else to do
with her life.
and the years trickle by
like a cold
rain, as she sits
and looks out window,
knowing sadly, that
there is no place better
to hide.
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