There should be rain tonight, it feels like. The air outside is a predator, still and waiting outside my window for me to stand up from my chair so it can hit me with some emotion I haven't quite placed, like a murmur in my malfunctioning heart that tells me things I shouldn't know. A frown and a laugh are all I have to offer, wondering just where the words come from and whether I was on to something when I knocked on that door, looking for the vocalist who was singing so beautifully in her sleep.
There it is again; that whisper... or is it a hum? Somehow it says to me that something's not done, or something's not right. Somewhere out there a man cries himself to sleep with a bottle of whiskey and a torn picture of what he'll never have. And here I am, locked alone in the quiet and helpless to help... hopeless to hope. Doomed to sleep and forget it all, turning instead to my own desires.
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