The phone sits heavy
Like a truth I haven’t said aloud
Its numbers glowing
Soft as a lighthouse
For ships that forgot
How to turn home
I trace the keypad
The way some people trace scars
Slow
Remembering
Trying to decide
Which stories are worth reopening
On the other end
I imagine a voice
Made of warm light
Someone who doesn’t know my name
But somehow knows
The shape of my silence
I don’t dial
Not yet
I just hold the phone
Like a lifeline braided
From breath and possibility
A reminder that reaching out
Is still a door
I haven’t closed
And maybe one day
I’ll press the numbers
Not because I’m breaking
But because even the strongest walls
Need a place
To lean
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Author:
Anthony Hanible (
Offline) - Published: March 27th, 2026 03:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Anthony Hanible
Offline)
Comments1
Hesitation is reflected in this poem and one has to ask when does hesitation become procrastination. Nicely written
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