Through

My hand on the wall

was all I had. The voice

came through the drywall

thin, breaking. Not words

but the shape of them—

a question maybe,

or a name repeated.

The other voice too small

to reach me. I couldn't help.

I pressed my palm flat

against the plaster

like I could transfer

something through it,

some small permission to stop.

Three nights ago.

Still here. Still listening

to the space between us,

to what I'm not supposed to know.