Voiceless

Last night the voicemail died.

Her laugh, once a flood,

a sudden collapse into silence.

The phone glowed cracked, unreadable.

My eyes caught their tired reflection

and the room stretched empty,

as quiet as a graveyard at dawn.

The sound slipped through fingers,

tongues fumbling for forgotten notes.

Memory frayed at the edges,

a song missing its chorus.

Some voices forget faster than faces.

Even her name tastes hollow now—

a ghost in the static

of a phone too late to hold onto sound.