memories drained of
softness clatter like dirty
dishes in my head—
passing sidestreets
without names in every
argument i replay.
(this is the part
i wax nostalgic,
a record skipping
in the living room)
i waited up at night
staring at my phone,
hoping you might call
to see if i was home.
your voice whispers
the same message:
“hey baby, i miss you”—
i’m still here
in the wreckage.