The voicemail light blinks—

The voicemail light blinks—

a cold pulse in the dark.

Your voice, cracked and low,

a thread stretched too thin:

"I love you."

Then silence,

a long pause hanging heavier

than any goodbye.

I press play again,

catching the break in your breath,

the catch in your words

I never heard before.

That night folds into now,

an endless loop of what-ifs,

your voice stuck like ice

on the tip of my tongue,

a wound I can’t quite close.