Raindrops grace our porch
As violently we work, on
Demon black laptops.

He lay on his bed, turning her words over in his mind. He turned them over and over, and over again till they'd lost all meaning - they became syllables, devoid of semantic. What could she have meant?

One last time, he let her words slip across his mind.

Glaring at him coolly, the last thing she'd said was, "You over think everything."