The Message Read
by Lark
· 31/12/2025
Published 31/12/2025 08:37
The phone screen glowed, a name I hadn't seen
in years, a sudden ghost between.
'I'm sorry.' That's all. A simple, flat reply
to a wound that never really learned to die.
It sat there, cold pixels, on a field of white,
no warmth, no weight, no real, human light.
Just two words, delivered, like a bill now due,
a debt acknowledged, long overdue.
What was it for? The cut that healed so rough?
The quiet years of silence, more than enough.
It didn't fix a thing. It just sat there, inert.
A dull, familiar ache, just below the shirt.