Hidden Digits Revealed

Four hang ups, no messages left. Bereft of those moments near the phone, a lonely heart could only hope it was you who called while I was required to be away. A pay phone call would disguise my ID. Pleas of "Don't leave," beg from your invisible line. Mine whispers and tugs "I still love you," through a muffled extended phone cord, stored on a thrift store shelf, buried under wonders alike, like an answering machine screened of every piece of you it could seek, antique now, shrouded in nineties' time, grimy like the thought of being torn apart. Compartmentalized moments spent pent up inside on sunny days to not miss kisses through a magic sound piece cease to exist in real time, but two could dream. Seemingly so far away, but in one chance glance from beyond thrift store isles, smiles meet again through unscreened numbers. 3-22-2020