The Last Analog Act

The needle lifts—click—

silence slides under the door.

The vinyl slows,

scratches the soft end of the night,

spinning stories that won’t digitize,

fading like a breath held too long.

I hesitated, hand paused in the air,

knowing this is the last turn,

the analog goodbye,

a final act before the cold beep of progress.

The quiet hum replaces crackle,

the record stops,

a chapter closes,

and I’m left with the scratchy quiet,

unfinished and still spinning inside me.