109: Belated Witching Hour
The headphones cover my ears. A lamp illuminates my desk as I draw, and Breaking Benjamin's 'Dance With the Devil' plays a bit louder than advisable. If someone came down the stairs outside my bedroom, I would not have heard it.
But I still feel you call my name.
I remove the headphones. It is 3 AM and everyone said good night several hours ago. One of the dogs snores under the desk. Through the wall the fridge hums. The wooden boards on the floors have settled.
I am the only person awake.
My name rings down the hall again, but it is not an audible sound. It is a thought—an impression of something said long ago.
Late-night birds chirp outside my window. I close my bedroom door and seal my ears with the headphones. Turn the music up. I still feel your call.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)
But I still feel you call my name.
I remove the headphones. It is 3 AM and everyone said good night several hours ago. One of the dogs snores under the desk. Through the wall the fridge hums. The wooden boards on the floors have settled.
I am the only person awake.
My name rings down the hall again, but it is not an audible sound. It is a thought—an impression of something said long ago.
Late-night birds chirp outside my window. I close my bedroom door and seal my ears with the headphones. Turn the music up. I still feel your call.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)
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