There was an immediate concern to affirm
the end of a conversation. Not even an effort
to reply to a litany crammed into what was left
of the text. In the screen, the cursor blinks
with me, waiting to continue what to say.
Perhaps, I am not thinking clearly. I pronounce
characters dead as I write them: no erasure,
no salvation. As though I were calling,
this single voice only interrupted
by the air whispering to me
just listen. Not a prayer
to beg at the end
of the line.
We never saw each other
again, silencing our confessions
with your short sentence.