Me, Myself, and You

Often times, we use music and television to fill the emptiness confined within the white walls. Sometimes, though, the album ends. Sometimes, the series is over. And when the noises fade away, we hear other things. You listen to the sounds of my belly and my heart and I listen to you eat potato chips and kiss my face. Outside, we hear the birds sing. Sometimes, there's only one bird singing to himself. You mock my love for pelicans. At night, you sing soft songs so sweetly that I sometimes hear you in my dreams. Lately, things just seem to make sense. Truth be told, your hand is the only one I want to walk me through the maze that is myself.