New Jeanland

I would start a sentence
and leave it somewhere in the middle,
and you would answer
the part I had not said yet.

I made a joke once
that died in the room.

You laughed.

Not politely.
At the right part.

Weeks later
you mentioned the book
I had forgotten telling you about.

I said I was tired.
You asked what happened.
I changed the subject.
You let me.
Then, three hours later,
you asked again.

I sent you songs
without explaining why.
You never asked.
You just sent one back.

Sometimes, I would be talking
and hear myself becoming clearer.
As though I had spent years
speaking through walls
and suddenly
there was someone
on the other side
already listening.