Sunday, June 2, 2013

Ears of Steven.

I know you aren't closed. You would still hear the sound of raccoons that are hiding in your bush. You could somehow still hear what's unheard. Like my fast typing sound, or my steps, or my silent stories through my ugly writings. You could hear the laugh, through a smiling photo. The truth is, I just miss being listened to. And the sad thing is, I can't bring you to the doctor, telling him that you have ear sickness, cause you don't. And I can't make you listen again. I can't make you listen to my life again.

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