Signal Loss

The train skipped my stop

while I watched three grey dots

expand and collapse like a lung.

You were saying something,

then you weren't,

and the world narrowed down to the glass.

I've read 'See you then' so many times

the words have lost their shape,

just ink and light meant to keep me

pacing this platform in the dark.

Then the red bar flashed—

ten percent, then five—

a digital heart failure

shutting the door before you could finish

whatever lie you were about to tell.