The creaks and shifts of a house that is far too old still stand
and the soft hum of midnight traffic are the only sounds in the night.
The glow of a computer is the only light, and the familiarity sets in.
This is every night.
Every night.
Longing for human interaction.
Just a glimpse into the consciousness we all share.
The phone vibrates against the wooden table.
It is not you.

Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting even more.
Knowing full well it should have happened by this point.
Knowing full well it probably will not happen.
Waiting even longer.
Waiting.
Waiting.