Wanting to ask you something,

I groped around my dusty days

And found I had no questions.

Wishing greatly to speak to you,

I searched the pages of the book

And learnt there was nothing to say.

I ran through the entire phonebook:

All names were yours and you were nowhere.

I deleted the message I’d typed for you.

And all my words have lost their way

Into some indifferent black-hole.


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