Reality

I lay here, listening to the burbling din, staring at the ceiling I don't see the actors, the people with their noise, I only know they exist for hearing them. Sometime about them is alluring, alluring yet repulsing, the noise causes me to become silent, I can't seem to let myself contribute to such a cooperative creation. One hundred concurrent conversations, Thousands of voiceless words, I don't hear the plans, the excitements, the humor, all I hear is the mutter, the rumble of young single adults, it is a distinctive sound. I could join them and make one voice alive. One conversation would become separate, would gain meaning by my presence. It would rise from the rumble and find a voice.

I hear the rumble because I am sitting apart, it is not my creation, but it exists because I allow it.