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I come home to silence and let myself in.
I hang my coat on an empty hall tree,
stare at it for a moement, then walk away.
In the kitchen I prepair a meal,
nothing fancy, dinner for one.
In the cupboard, four bowls, four plates,
four cups and saucers.
Always four, the smallest set available.
In the evening I sit without speaking,
the television my only companion,
until I retire to my lonely bedroom.
An empty hope chest at the foot of the bed.
And on the nightstand, a telephone,
mocking me with its silence.
My Ideal Person
I'm looking for anyone who will take the time to get to know me.
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