I’m alone.  But not in that way,
	where no one listens
The kind of alone where
	the wooden fence is wet
	and you feel sad.
And there’s no one there.
And it’s quiet.  You can hear the quiet.
And Charlie said he feels infinite
	and sometimes, everyone does.
	I do right now.
And the book is torn and bent.
I feel sad for the person who ruined it.
	Maybe they  swore
	when they saw it bent at the bottom
	of their backpack.
But maybe, they just shrugged.
The library forgives sometimes.