The phone rings.
One.
I tell myself
he is busy.
A missed call
is an ordinary mercy.
Two.
Maybe the phone
is on the counter.
Water runs
in the sink.
Dogs barking
at nothing again.
Three.
The house
feels larger.
Silence stretches
through the rooms,
like a hallway
without lights.
Four.
I think of him,
staring through windows,
as if the world outside
is not
the one
he lives in.
Six.
The ocean
comes to me.
How easily
something living
can vanish
beneath the surface.
Seven.
My mind
opens doors
I keep locked.
Shadows,
not my own,
crawl through him.
Eight.
My hand tightens
around the phone,
like gripping a railing
above deep water.
Nine.
The ringing
feels heavier,
as if it knows something
I refuse to name.
Ten.
The ringing
stops.
I whisper
his name
into the room.
The room
does not answer.
The silence
that follows
is the longest sound
I have ever heard.
Because loving him
has taught me this.
Sometimes courage
is nothing more than waiting.
For a voice
you love
to come back.
hello lovely poetess this is deep ❤️I can relate…