My Conscience

In the middle of the night I met him,
tapping his heels against the wall
and taking a drag on his cigarette.

I decided to ask what he was doing:
pondering some meaning behind it all,
or maybe mulling over a past regret?

“Talking to you,” he replied, smiling,
tapping the ash away and staring
somewhere into the distance.

I asked him why, and he waited.
Waited until I turned to leave, before saying:
“perhaps, because I am lonely.”

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