Twenty four hours. That is what you asked for
as the sun set behind the tree without any leaves.
A day to decide the fate of a lifetime.

You wrapped your hands around your knees and started rocking
as if some clock had already started ticking. Within us
sentences skipped scenarios in search of that perfect paragraph.

I leaned against the tree and watched the last light
fall across the furrows on your forehead. There was
so much history happening in that moment.

Half a day later you called me from a pay phone
as I was leaving the bookstore. You said you
wanted to hear my voice one more time.

There was something in the silence between your words
that made me stop at that corner we both knew so well.
People curved around me as I waited for you to say something concrete.

But the connection was lost. The moment walked away with the rest.
I stood there waiting for you to call back. To call me back. To pick up
the pieces that we threw away in a moment of madness.

Night came, two hands came together but the phone remained speechless.
I waited for a coin to clink somewhere and for the connection to be made.
But it was too late, you had taken the silence between us into you.

Our favorite book of poetry was open on the table, the pages skipping
through our little histories, through the seconds that survived.
There was no way to stop the movement of moments that mattered.

The only thing you left behind was a box full of questions.
Would the distraction of distance be enough to forget the past?
Would the silence of our hearts be strong enough to make the connection?
If I just stood here forever, holding onto our book, would you still call?