A Breath, Saved

The tiny screen, a dim green ghost

in the junk drawer’s deep, dusty host.

My thumb, it hesitated,

hovered, almost consecrated

the 'play' button, that little triangle,

but paused, caught on an ancient tangle.

'1 Saved Message,' it glowed,

his name a flicker, long since mowed

down by years, by distance, by quiet.

A single breath, a small riot

of what ifs, of what was, of what might have been.

That voice, preserved, thin and unseen.

It’s been too long to let it out,

to let the sound resolve my doubt,

or sharpen the dull ache I keep.

Better to let the memory sleep,

unbroken, in its digital crypt,

a silent vow, not to be stripped.