New York, NY, USA
The floor was an old wood, strong
but varnish stripped by wear,
the walls freshly painted white
and the furniture handed down from older generations
which hasn't seemed to recover from it's
He sat on the sofa silent,
staring at the letters of words of a book
but distracting them from their syllables and sentences,
trying to get them to play,
while they remained resolute in their adherance to old verse.
Reforming letters into fragments of her opus on his life,
he can't help but become anxious
that he can't forget her,
or worried that the words will never reveal to him the mystery of her hatred,
and while he imagines her ideal and proud,
the words float back together.
The sun has been setting slowly,
and he must turn on a light.