The Spaces Between

The words arrive hours late, each one a small argument against the distance.

You typed and stopped, typed again— I see the ellipsis, that waiting, that unsaying.

We speak in fragments now, pauses longer than sentences, the phone dark between us, counting heartbeats instead.

What lives in the gap between your thought and mine? What dies there?

Dust settles on good intentions. The cursor blinks. We're still learning how to say the hard things when all the easy ones are gone.