Tip-toeing through hustling rooms
Enduring everything that once was, that is.
I’ve lived in these rooms all my life.
Sight is my interaction.
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A mirror reflects the future though me.
This person in silver darkness
Tells me everything,
While confirming nothing.
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Hello; they can’t hear me.
Can’t understand what is unspoken.
How are you; I’ll never truly know.
Answers are my speculations.
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Shyness would be an understatement;
Shaky as so many leaves in the wind.
I think I know every answer,
But I dare not test my voice to ask.
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What if I’m right?
I’m afraid I may.
