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"I don’t even like Her"


I don’t even like her,
as I look over the 4-foot walls,
that form my world 8-1/2 hours a day.
Who is she talking too.
I don’t even like her,
I whisper.
As I strain to lean 6-more inches over the cube wall.
As if that will somehow help me get a closer view,
Of that guy she is talking too.
I don’t even like her,
I hear myself say.
As I watch her quietly laugh,
At something he just said.
Then slightly embarrassed,
She turns away from his eyes.
You don’t even like her,
Says Bob walking pass my walls,
Him,
looking at me.
Me,
Staring at her.
As a shy smile starts to pull it’s self,
across her face,
as she turns back towards him.
I don’t even like her,
I weakly say to myself.
As she hands him a clipboard and pen,
and even from here,
I can see her face go flush,
as their fingers lightly touch,
when he hands it back to her.
I don’t even like her,
I mutter.
As she and him continue to talk,
As they slowly walk pass,
the rows and rows of cubes.
Pausing only once,
when they both run out of words to say,
and just look at each other.
Before they both just start laughing like little kids,
And then continue to walk till the walls begin,
To block my view.
I slump back into my chair.
What do I care,
I say way to loud.
I don’t even like her.