Woke to a sound like static

Woke to a sound like static,

but wet.

Through the wall,

the one between us and them,

whoever they are tonight.

A low, broken sound.

Crying. Not sobbing,

not loud, just that deep,

unmoored kind of crying.

My breath held.

Like I was stealing something.

Then, another sound,

a low murmur, a drone.

Not words I could catch,

just the shape of comfort,

a steadying presence,

like a hand on a back.

The plasterboard, thin skin,

vibrated faintly.

Their whole world,

raw and close,

a radio left on low,

bleeding emotion

into my sleep.

And I lay there,

just listening,

stranger to stranger, caught

in the middle

of someone else's

unfurling night.