Crappy Phone Reception

[ | | | | | ]

Eight-hundred

And sixty-two miles separate our bodies.

Our words are fingers, our voices are facial expressions,

And all that distance crackles like thunder over the

Phone when all subject matter has been exhausted.

[ | | | | ]

“How was your day today?”

We ask for the third time. It’s not the answer we’re

Searching for but rather some semblance of human

Connection that’s dissipated as the weeks

Turned to months turned to years.

[ | | | ]

“Oh, it was okay,” and you can see their eyes

Welling up thru their tone. Our stomachs drop from

Knowing that our day wasn’t okay, that not a whole

Lot has been okay. “I love you” we say, still

Reaching for that connection.

[ | | ]

We promised each other we’d never overuse the phrase

“I love you”, for fear that such redundancy would wear

Out those words. Now those words carry more weight

Than either of us can be burdened with. We are very

Tired and our voices are getting scratchy.

[ | ]

Eight-hundred and sixty-two miles between

Us, the battery’s dying, it’s getting harder

To hear you, and I just don’t know

What to say anymore.

::Beep:: ::Click::

[No Service]