Storm

Last night,

late night,

I listened to your voice,

lingered on the phone.

You read our playbook,

of what we once had,

rereading a script,

lines written in pen. 

Some words of relevance,

some digressed, 

so far apart,

only our story left.

Goodbye,

saved our lives,

in those late night calls,

you talked your breath away - for no reason at all. 

Stayed too long,

talking on the phone,

creating thunder,

that built itself slow. 

We were washed away,

in phone calls so late,

our story lived on,

but the storm remained.

.