Don't ever go away from here

Being alone in the office makes me want to dance and sing and cartwheel across the drab floor to Now It's Overhead. I'd be my own indie circus and spectacle for no one to see but these walls would know. These strange white walls with their ugly paintings and scattered straps bolted to the wall, they've been around for each business that has passed through, each set of clacking keyboards, each phone call to Mr. So and So. The tin of Christmas popcorn is still sitting in the kitchen and I want to throw it over my head like confetti. I wonder if we ever grow up and if we do, what it feels like.