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.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
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.
Request permission to use this poem