…
On a usual day, the first thing I
do is make a pot of tea, but today
I found myself in the cooking room
staring at the wall. I’d been there an hour.
…
I heard her in the next room but
when I walked in, she
wasn’t there there
were only echoes.
…
…
I made tea; just
when the kettle
started to sing,
there it was again—
her voice, calling my name,
…
whatever that is.
…
Back in the beforetimes, when we
were together and the air still
smelt of her sandalwood,
the voices didn’t say
such awful things.
…
And that song wasn’t playing all the time,
the one with the fuzzy piano hum,
or maybe a guitar,
that sang the notwords,
over
and over
…
shesnotreal yourenotreal
yourenotreal shesnotreal
…
shesnotreal
…
yourenotreal
…
…
Start Here → Next: [chasing clouds in the burrow ] · [unworded]
