Thirty-Four.

With two heartbeats past
three in the morning, when
even the crickets are trying to
rest and the trees are refusing
to budge in the light whistling
breeze of the moon and stars,
when the cold floorboards are
creaking beneath my footsteps,
with the gentle soothing sounds
of whispers at my touch – I am
alone with the choices you had
made, without a second notice
to the sound of my heartbeat,
shifting amongst the silence in
a city that only seems to sleep
when thoughts become burdens.

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