The Weight of a Saved Voice

That laugh—

a cracked thing trapped in a phone's cold case,

pulled from the dust,

a weight more solid than the years.

The screen glows faintly,

a pale witness to the cracked wood,

where coffee rings bloom like tired moons.

I play it again,

hear the pause, the breath just before a word

that never made it to the light.

It folds into the silence between us,

something heavy, soft, and wrong—

a voice saved,

not spoken,

not quite remembered,

like a ghost

that lingers because I pressed "keep."