What do you think of my poem?

Anonymous
In work, silence fills every corridoor you do not walk.
And each empty space I look toward, captures a memory of you.
When you're not there, somehow the space feels greater and bigger.
The corridors grow longer and when I walk them, they only expand.
Like walking on a never ending escalotor.
I can never reach you. Or perhaps this is just part of my nightmare and you are infact 'unobtainable' to me.

On your return to work, everything falls back together. The corridoors neatly allign.
Everyone has their place, and yours is somewhere next to me at a computer desk laughing.
Or at the bedside of a patient. Awaiting anxiously to hear the first thing you speak.

When you're around, the corridoors are not dark and dingy.
Light escapes each patients room window to find 'us' together.

In the day, I look to find that light.
In the evening, instead it is the silence of the call bells. The down time that we share when everything is still. When there is actually time to talk, or think, or sometimes look blankly at the other. Wondering, what are you thinking.

It is the to and fro, of searching those corridoors to find you for something I need. Or yet, rather something I want.

In work it is hard to differentiate the two.
Searching for you is like playing hide and seek.
You like to hide from me, but unknown to you, I am usually aware of where you are anyways.

There is a feeling of 'knowing' with you.

It is all of these things that is my favourite passtime.
Without you there, the empty spaces haunt me.
It torments me, that all the things I wanted, was right there infront of me.
When your gone, it is just a reminder. A long, slow, 14 hour reminder. Sometimes it sits right on my chest, or the back of my head.

Still, scribbling stickmen stories on my handovers, is how I pass the hours
What do you think of my poem?
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