6757. THOSE ARE A HUNDRED THINGS

THOSE ARE A 

HUNDRED THINGS

In this dim light I cannot really see you, though I

know you sleep. I hear the occasional rustle of your

breathing heart and mind. Comfort me with that.

-

A stack of dominoes ten feet high just feel from the

lantern table  -  a racket, yes, but you didn't even blink.

I wanted to run and hide your shoes, but couldn't bring

myself to do it, knowing you'd enjoy the barefoot too.

-

My pen still scratches these bitter pages  -  even in the

density of night. I don't always use a keyboard see; 

that's like shouting, whereas this handwriting first

is more to me like a whisper. they way it should be.

-

Well, that's only the beginning, and those are only

the start of a hundred things and more I could say.