a wisp of a thought, for yan wei
Every week you
come back, for two nights,
then leave again. Most of the time,
now, I have nothing to tell you,
the week’s inanities done with and said;
for most of the two days
you sit, spent, in front of your screen,
fingers raining magical combos,
willing your fatigue away on half-hour duels.
But some nights a good song
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