The 6:23
Phone in the pocket quietly sits,
Aching still where a vibrating
“good morning” used to be;
Half an hour of “I love yous”,
Filled now with silence and
Willing, wanting and waiting.
An arm lain casually across a pocket,
Not feeling for the vibration,
Simply resting there. A lie.
Pulling into the station now,
Phone unmoved, unmoving,
The journey has reached its end.
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