The Message That Ended It

The phone glows cold in my palm,

a brief note clipped tight, no softness.

Brushed my teeth slow,

mirror cracked and half-lit,

words flashing back like a splinter.

No ring, no voice—just this

sharp little sentence

cutting clean through routine.

I learned how easily the ground gives way,

how the silence after

can be louder than the fall.

And the night waits,

long and hollow,

for me to find a new name

inside the cold light of a screen.