It’s passed midnight. The phone connects, tangled through street corners and freeway on-ramps, from three hundred miles of string to the end of a styrofoam cup. You press against the other side, but most of my words get stuck at the bottom, warped and ripped apart in all the footsteps they’ve already traveled. My exhales are lost in my inhales and the ends of my eyelashes pull with each breath you do not hear. A biker, somewhere, crash lands. The tangled mesh of spider web thoughts are caught in his spokes and he cuts them loose, without hesitation, before returning on his way. And suddenly, my mouth curved into it’s last goodbye, I’m disconnected.
