Unanswered

you awake?

I texted at eight,
coffee in hand.
Nothing felt wrong.
Nothing unplanned.

No fear in my chest.
No hint you were gone.
Just one normal morning
before it went wrong.

call me when you see this

By ten, phone in hand,
I paced every room.
Left it face-up,
waiting for you.

Table. Bench. Bed.
Never far away.
Certain you’d answer
the second I strayed.

where are you?

Nothing.

So I tried smaller words.

hey

hello?

answer me

please

You always answered
before too long.
A joke or a heart.
or some stupid song.

But now there was nothing.
No light or cue.
Just my hand on my phone,
waiting for you.

are you mad at me?

I typed the question,
watched it stay.
Waiting for words
you might never say.

My thumb hovered
then swept it away.

did i do something?

Erased that too.

are you hurt?

I hovered
over send.

Some words become frightening
when no one answers them.

By afternoon,
your name filled the room.
On my Mum’s phone
and your Dad's too.

Then spoken aloud
by a stranger in the kitchen
wearing blue,
and asking about you.

everyone’s looking for you

I waited.

you’re scaring me

I waited.

That night I lay
with the screen glowing blue,
lighting my face
as I waited for you.

i’m sorry about yesterday

i didn’t mean it

just come home

The screen went dark
before I did.

Days later,
I still wrote to you
like you’d only stepped out
and would be home soon.

they found your jumper

your plant needs water

your mum keeps crying every time I call

Between each text,
I’d hold my breath
begging your name
to light the screen next.

Weeks passed.

My messages changed.

i’m angry at you

Nothing.

I miss you

Nothing.

I keep thinking I see you

Nothing.

I scrolled back through
the life that we knew
birthdays and bad jokes,
dinners for two.

Arguments once
too big to ignore.
Now I’d give anything
to fight once more.

And there you were,
in each message I’d see
laughing and talking,
and answering me.

shut up

five mins

love you too

Until the answers
came no more.

Silence where
your words were before.

All I had was one last line:

see you later x

I read it until
the meaning wore thin.
See you later—
but when does that begin?

How long is later?
How long do I wait?

Months pass in silence.
I still check too late.

They've stopped asking.
I still scroll through—
back through our messages,
still looking for you.

I type

are you there?

Delete.

do you know we’re still waiting?

Delete.

I don’t know how to stop looking for you.

Delete.

Then I write your name.

Just your name.

And still I wait,
long after I should

for those three little dots
A sign coming through.