Late Nights

“12:38 AM

_______________ is calling…”

I grab my phone – swipe right.

Green to answer; green to let you into my room.

Green like the shirt I wear while curled on the bed, propped against the pillow.

You look nothing like you.

Pixels and light where flesh and warmth should be.

You are you, but not the you I hold.

You are so much more than a blurry image and a shaky internet connection.

We talk, we laugh, we tease.

Shadows leap from the jar of stars I keep on the shelf 

and dance on the wall of the cupboard behind me.

The stars shine ever brighter when you are with me - 

why should my room be any different?

I touch you, tracing the stubble on your jaw,

brushing the hair from your eyes.

It doesn’t work.

Damned phone screen – my finger slides uselessly off its smoothness,

and I curse behind the smile I wear for you.

My fingers curl into the blue of your jacket,

lying faded and loved – so loved – beside me on the bed.

I wrap it around me like I would your arms,

breathing in the scent of you – faded, so faded.

Go to sleep, you tell me. Ssshh.

I’m not tired, I say, and you snort. Yeah, right.

I can close my eyes - you’re here, and you’re not going anywhere.

Affectionate words exchanged, layered with drowsiness like the blanket I pull over me,

like the waves that wash over me: slowly, slowly, slo-

“2:47 AM

_______________ has disconnected.”