Whispers of a home

I hear the tick of a clock letting me know every second I am wasting as I scroll through my phone,

the slide of my finger against the screen,

the tap of my thumb as I message someone back,

artificial noise.

I can hear the TV in my living room that entertains my father for hours,

his laugh is heard over my music,

the clicking of the controller  when he switches through channels.

I can hear the gentle purring vibrating through my cat,

content at the bottom of the bed at my feet,

far away from the rest of the world.

The soft patter against the carpet of my dogs roaming the house,

the scratching of their nails is made against the door when one of them needs to be let outside,

gentle steps as they slowly get on the couch.

I hear the pages turning of a book my little sister is reading,

rustling fabric from the place she reads because she doesn't know how to sit still,

a sigh she has when something happens she doesn't like between the pages she turns.

I can hear my breathing slow,

mellow,

soft while I write compared to my normal stressed feeling.

The tap- tap- tap- of my keyboard as I write too you,

my fingers sliding to hit the next key,

the click of the space bar that I hit just a little too hard.

The dryer running that my mother just turned on,

and her shuffling feet as she makes her way to the kitchen,

the sound of her slippers as she steps onto the tiles.

I can hear a home.