6AM

6am.
An empty classroom;
darkness pooling across the desks
like it belongs here,
like it’s waiting.

My phone glows against the night
that refuses to leave,
a Russian song slipping through the air,
whispering your voice
where my hands can’t reach.

I imagine your touch –
the way it lingered
even after you left,
and I imagine you reading my words,
knowing I wrote them
with you in every breath.

I remember our long night drives –
the silence between us
thicker than the city,
the road stretching endlessly,
as if it, too, carried us
without letting go.

A tear lands heavy against the wood,
another follows,
until the desk begins to drown.

I choke on the ache lodged in my chest,
swallowing too hard,
because I know…
you haven’t forgotten.

It’s been too long to still ache like this,
yet I do,
and you do too;
somewhere, quietly,
holding me
in the same broken space
we never left.