You called again last night
Dusk was slumped over the window frames
and my eyes had adjusted accordingly
You were a mirage of poorly put together pixels framed by the grey of your bedroom walls
Lit by your digital enthusiasm
“how are you?”
I tell you that I’m fine
You ask about school
my friends
my last training session
Echo chambers of average
“I think I’ll be home next week,”
I tell you that’s great
I don’t say much else
I don’t tell you about the quiet that will come when we hang up
How the silence slaps the stone of the brick house you used to hold on both your shoulders because mine were still too weak to take the weight
“you should turn the lights on,”
You tell me you miss me
To give our dog your hug
The phone line whispers crackles while I wait for you to finish
“be nice to mum and dad, okay?”
crackle
“don’t stay up too late,”
crackle
“love you, I’ll see you soon.”
I mimic your message
Let the distance readjust
Hum the note the speaker makes when your voice has been removed from the orchestra
The lights stay off
The curtains still open
I sit in your familiar absence once again
Waiting for the light
To turn back home
not from your perspective, for m x
