The Weight of Waiting

My fingers curl around glass and metal,

a weight heavier than steel,

pressing cold into skin.

The screen glows dimly,

silence buzzing beneath,

the absence loud in the dark room.

A message sent—then stillness,

like the pause between breaths,

when the world waits, held tight.

Every second ticks with tension,

a quiet drum in my chest,

while the phone lies heavy,

still and expectant,

like a stone I cannot set down.

I watch for the vibration,

hear nothing but the slow

beat of my own worry,

spilling like shadows on cracked wood.

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