down the short hall,
the door ajar.
no music on.
just the tapping of fingers
against the keyboard.
i listen. i stop
what i'm doing, i put my book down.
and listen.
i hear the worst.
i hear everything
that i was never meant to hear.
no need to rise
and go see.
no reason to ask what are you
doing, or who are
you writing to.
i know.
No comments:
Post a Comment