Dust settles thick on the rotary dial

Dust settles thick on the rotary dial,

fingers never touch those circles now.

The cord loops like a secret

no one dares to pull.

My sister asks what it is,

a toy or a relic from a story

I only half remember.

The silence that follows

thickens like smoke,

as if the phone holds stories

we're too tired to tell.

Numbers spin in my head—

a forgotten code, a call unanswered,

a sound swallowed by time

and cracked wood floors.