I stayed up too late with my brain.
Let it get the best of me.

Think about the way the
hot water heater in the next room
clicked and hummed,
mixed with the sound of
Brooklyn traffic from the window
and Ringo in the backyard, barking.

I used to lay there in the morning,
when the house was quiet,
and think that it sounded like
a video game soundtrack.

Now I listen to the sound of wind,
rushing through the speaker of my phone,
as you bike home from work.
"Hey, listen" you say over the traffic hum,
"I'm turning on Myrtle now, I gotta go."

But I hang up first, because I already left.

I'm digging a hole with my sadness.
Not ready to climb in yet.