she sings, i shave

her voice carries down from upstairs she sings in some strange language as i shave i find myself head cocked feeling the emotion even if the words mean little

it isn’t a great voice, more that of an absent minded village girl at the river singing happily as the world slowly moves past reflected in the slow flowing river

maybe it is so quiet that the sound of someone else is the true foreign language, maybe the loneliness has made it so anything needs to be clung too in the face of this void

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