He is there

I see him playing a keyboard in the corner of the big white room as I lead my life.



The notes are interspersed with his laughter, that strange guttural sound he makes.


I also keep hearing him say ‘Jasmine’. And weighed breaths. He lurks in the corner, never stops playing, never comes to claim the spotlight.


Sometimes I turn around to check if he is there. He plays the same tunes, interrupts with the same laughter and calls my name the same way.