the stone of hurt

A friend called me this morning, with a story sad, but true... and how often have you heard this, when a good friend calls on you? recalling, she said... The numbers on the clock flash almost twenty past eleven... I know he should have been home by at least fifteen 'til seven. And I saw his favorite tv show, come and go at eight, then watched the pot roast dinner dry up on his plate. Both kids were tucked in bed just a little after nine, I said "daddy had to work late", a too familiar line... then at ten, I tried to tell myself that it just might be true... but lyin's something I can't do easily as he seems to. As the clock is marking twelve, I sit down at our pc, it seems to work for him, what can it do for me? The screen name that he uses, Lookin4aLittle... fine, if it's good enough for him, I guess I can make it mine. I've heard the chat's are always good to meet and make new friends... guess his wife could use a few, who cares what means or ends? It looks like things are swinging as the hands of time near one... someone called ShesSoundAsleep, asks if I'm looking for some fun... so with that i say, let's talk awhile, as tears well up from somewhere deep... and the bruising from the stone of hurt spread to one who's sound asleep. Where will it end? I just don't know, as a stranger in the night... takes me through the lonely hours into the empty morning light.all comments and critiques welcomed Written January 30th, 2002 © on Jan 30 2002 01:27 AM PST   0 • 1