Late Night Words of Another

The floorboards creak a song full of sorrow in rhythm with my tipping toes.

Does she know of my late night escapades? My trysts with the telly? My wild romps with written words?

How each night I fall in love with ghosts of page and screen as I desperately cling to the notion that all is well.

I fear I have fallen in love again. A passing fancy, surely, but there it is nonetheless. Not so much a deep dive--a light splash, perhaps--skimming and thumbing my way through the thoughts and words of another; never intended for me, but I devour them all the same.