Signals

 

You said call me —

a door left ajar,

a hand extended into the silence,

 trusting the echo to return.

 

I said I’ll call you —

a promise folded in my pocket,

a coin that may never be spent,

control disguised as care.

 

Between us hangs the dial tone,

a wire strung tight with longing,

where one waits in quiet hope,

and the other drifts in delay.

 

And yet —

in the pause between words,

in the static between breaths,

we both know the truth:

connection is a fragile thing,

and sometimes love is only

a number never dialled.

 

 

 

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