I Miss The Noise Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Sometimes I love my reflection.
Other times, he's just a bad friend—fixing his lips like he's about to interrupt me before I get my thought out good.
When I stop speaking, so does he.
What do you expect? He's me. Shit.
In truth, the bills are paid, and all current business is handled. But something is missing. It's obvious. He just looks and shakes his head—my reflection.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't care.
I've gotten used to the silence that follows me. It's peaceful.
When I make it home after a long day, if I touch something, I know where it is.
If I cook something, I know there's more, even if I don't eat it all.
He sits back and watches all of this.
My reflection. Half the time, I pay him no mind. Sometimes, it's better that way.

But sometimes, I wouldn't mind a bit of noise