Weight in Waiting

My fingers curl like they know

how heavy hope can be,

clutching this slab of glass

that pulls harder with every minute.

The screen glows—a pale blue bruise

in the dark, a cruel tease,

a small clock ticking louder

than any voice could manage.

I lift it to my ear—nothing.

The silence presses,

a weight that bends my spine

and pins the breath inside,

a prisoner of light and waiting.