I remember when we had phone calls until little girls got up for school.
I remember the drunken laughter, peeing while talking and spilling beer.
I remember hearing the sleepy giggles of your own flesh and blood,
And when you told me you couldn't wait for us to meet.
I remember showing you my soul from two hours away,
And trying to keep my tears quiet over the phone.
You always heard them, though.
You always heard me.
And you let me hear you too.
You let me past the stubbornness and the walls around your heart
And that was better than being heard.
Sparse text messages aren't as good as our late night calls, but I suppose it's better than nothing.
I fear we're dangerously close to nothing.
I remember when you told me you'd always be here.
Where are you?