A Song Between Us

spoken

I've never heard you laugh.

I know where it happens, though.

You stop answering properly.

Three messages arrive at once.

Then a word you've spelled so badly

I can almost hear you trying to get it out.

Sometimes I wonder what you do after saying goodnight.

Whether you put the phone beside you.

Whether the television stays on.

Here, there's usually a glass on the floor.

A car going past.

Something ordinary you've never seen.

You know things about me

that people sitting across a table wouldn't think to ask.

But you wouldn't know which window was mine.

I wouldn't recognise your footsteps.

There are evenings when that feels strange.

There are evenings when it doesn't matter at all.

Once, in a supermarket,

I thought of something you would find funny.

I stood there typing beside the bread.

People went around me with their shopping.

You answered before I reached the checkout.

I carried that little conversation home.

I suppose that's how it happened.

You became someone I wanted to tell.

When something went wrong.

When nothing happened.

When I couldn't sleep.

I don't know what to call this.

I know you prefer the quiet.

I'm getting better at leaving room for it.

Some nights we say very little.

You send me a song.

I listen.

For a few minutes,

I know what's playing in your room.