You can hear me typing,

It’s a common complaint, one that I’ve heard for years on end.

I wish the reason was more exciting;

I just love the sound.

Your a hairs breath from putting me on mute,

Someone will call you soon, make demands of your time,

While I sit there in silence, happily ignoring every chime,

from someone who think I have nothing else to do.

This does get a bit much,

You’ve left me on hold for an hour,

And while I don’t mean to have your company as a crutch,

The truth is I miss those moments.

They remind me of the library, the over powering warmth of the heaters,

But now I’m warm hoping that you can understand that I don’t to be here and you’re the only thing that keeps me from running away.