I hear the pitter patter,
the incessant tapping,
the rising and falling
of fingertips
emanating
from cubicled walls.

And my mind drifts
to more pleasant times,
to the rhythm of your heart,
so steady,
so alive.
It seems like eons ago
that you rocked my world
with your sweet kisses.

And it's times like these,
times lost to sheer boredom
that I drift,
dream about the moment,
the moment when
our eyes did meet,
locked in each others arms,
counting heartbeats.

I have a bone to pick with Fate.
Come here and tell me, girlie,
Do you think my mind is maturing late,
Or simply rotted early?