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Mar 2014
The subtle hum of my computer.
The gentle whisper of the heat in the vents.
Muffled voices next door speak elatedly on topics I may never hear.
The creaking of joints, aged beyond their years.
The tapping of my keyboard creates a percussive symphony.
It's so noisy.
I want nothing more than to hear your voice.
Silence.
Written by
Chris Myrick  Kent
(Kent)   
439
     Dreamer, --- and rained-on parade
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