So I had a dream,I was in a room, and it was white,
A simple honest white, no off whites, no slight greys,
It was just that room and a phone, and myself,
Nothing more, nothing less, quite plain and simple,
I had feelings, and I had a feeling, that I was waiting,
I was waiting for something and hoping for something,
It took me time to figure it out,
There was an irratiting clicking that would not stop,
Not until I figured out those thoughts and where they went,
The clicking was a clock, an old clock, and it stopped,
When I realized I was waiting for a call,
From this phone, and from your voice,
A voice so familiar and so far, comforting and breaking all the more,
It would catch me off guard, and it would swim through my body,
Your voice would crawl between my veins and hold onto my bones,
I would wake up, your voice would wake up these veins,
Warm up these bones with pitch and pretty tones.
So I had this dream, and the white blinded me,
And like a pen with the most smooth and solemn letters,
The silence wrote a sad story upon me.