The Promise to Bring

I told her

next time, I’d bring it —

the thing she asked for,

soft and bright and impossible to find.

Her voice held that thread,

a fragile line stretched across miles,

patient, like a quiet song.

The cracked screen

between us glowed

with the weight of something

smaller than words,

but heavier than the night.

I felt the promise settle

like dust on my chest,

waiting, not quite ready to be kept,

not quite ready to break.

The phone fell silent,

and I was left holding

something too big for the dark,

something I’d carry

like a secret,

until the next time.