life with an accent

She lived life with an accent albeit she was never sure the which. Somehow she was always hoping on someone telling her.

When she first met him she introduced her apartment where there was never an escape from melody. Silence feels like a waste of time when music could be playing, and besides, musicians are easy to relate to; they sing about everything. No one slept the first night or the second, and no one knew what they did at day.

“I was so excited to wake up, I couldn’t go to sleep!”

She shared how she was growing attached to garbage and how she was afraid her thoughts will never matter, not even in a hundred years. How she once repeated a mistake and now everything smells like it. He just listened. When the rain fell sideways, they sank straight down.

“Aren’t you glad people can’t read thoughts?”

I guess what kept them in there so long wasn’t that they were alike, but rather different. Things like that don’t matter in a hundred years either, so again they stayed up counting the scars until one day he sighed his biggest sigh yet.

“I think it was knowing myself that drove me insane.”

The dust built at the foot of the door until it would no longer open, but the music still seeps through and is nice to wake up to.