Before, in the time when I didn't know you, the doors were locked tight.
The lights were off, the rooms were empty and no one came to call.
Everything was laid out neat as two pins, everything in its place.
The only sound was the clock dutifully ticking away the hours.
There were bars on all the windows and they did not open.
No intruders could get in past the alarms.
I was safe.
Now the windows are flung
open whenever you walk past, a breeze
blows through, it flings
all the doors open and the papers flutter around and lose
their order, and the dog barks and jumps to try to catch them but they fly by just
out of his reach, and someone turns on a light to see what the ruckus
is all about, and I am standing all alone in