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much of my commute
these past few days
has been about the first call
we’ll never have after our break.

obsessing over
the receiver bringing
through your imagined hello
in more weeks than i dare count.

my phones notif’s are almost taunting me
reminders from every little corner of the internet
that life can’t pause
the moving on
after the
death of another gay boys feelings.

the thought
eventually there’ll be an
unspoken acceptance
your voice will never be close and familiar again

unshackles me.

as the northern line pulls into the platform
i like to imagine somewhere under its torturous sound
you’re speaking to me and i just can’t hear it.

this is the peace i’ve been left with
to patch myself up
in all of its ugly simplicity.

oh how a heart can sink but still shine.
oh how my love can be smothered
and you be fine.

— The End —