117300
1
A number.
A dial.
A greeting.
A smile.
Regressed to a child.
Time stops for a while.
The past is rehashed.
Some silence.
Some laughs.
A lump in a throat.
A tear on a lash.
Alternate paths
considered at length.
The longing to ask,
but so little strength.
The utter of stutters,
but absence of words
that first flowed so freely
when voices first heard.
Metamorphosis from
ease to awkwardness.
Tongue tethered and numb
like Novocained gums.
Silly thoughts chasing
the memories racing
throughout a cortex
in deep contemplation.
“You still there?” in the ear
returns focus to clear.
Romantically hopeless,
a mutter of “Yeah.”
Reason recovered.
Eased into other
less pleasing, but safer
topics to cover.
Pretense exhausted.
Farewells being served.
Good-byes are spoken,
but no clicks are heard.
Line remains open.
The silence is cursed
by each other’s long
that the other’s click first
like when they were new
-HymnAgen
