Tinny Voices and Grainy Pictures

I hate how my voice can’t reach you over there

The tide is too loud.

We graduated with excitement

never fathoming

that we’d be torn apart

by a whole country.

By the time I’ve shaken

sleep’s warm fingers off

you’ve already eaten lunch

and I cant even fathom

stomaching breakfast.

Talking is trivial

Everything I want to tell you

is meaningless

the things I’ve done

are pointless

You’re not here to share them with me

We don’t get up to much

separated by this thing

we call our future.

Loneliness has crept in

making a home

in the space you left vacant.

When I finally see you

will you remember my voice

and my too-loud laugh

or my constant tears and how

you always let me cry

because you couldn’t.

I can’t call you so effortlessly

like I used to

I’ll dial

and that monotone bitch will tell me

that long-distance fees may apply

and my phone plan

doesn’t quite cover these choices

we’ve made.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.