“The Disconnect”
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My phone is plugged in,
its cord stretching from the wall like a lifeline,
and I sit here on the floor,
fingers tapping out small fragments of us,
keeping the connection alive—
at least on my end.
But then he says,
“I have to go, my phone is out of charge.”
A pause,
not long enough to register as anything more than a flicker,
but it lands hard.
He didn’t used to care about that—
letting it run low,
talking until our words were the only things left buzzing
in the dark.
Now the battery matters.
Now he cares about conserving what’s left
for something else,
somewhere else,
someone else?
I sit,
my phone full,
our conversation draining.
I don’t blame him.
I built this silence, didn’t I?
I poured myself into those moments,
let him become everything
while I forgot to leave something for myself.
I stretched us thin,
like the frayed wires in my hands,
and maybe it’s only fair
that he’s unplugging now.
I remember the nights
when we’d talk through the dead hours,
when nothing in the world
was worth more than the glow of his voice,
when charging didn’t matter—
not if it meant staying with me,
staying in the conversation.
But now,
he lets the charge run out,
lets the silence stretch between us
like the fraying cable in my hands.
He says he cares,
but care isn’t found in the dead minutes
between texts that don’t come,
in calls that end before they’ve begun,
in the excuses, the distractions,
the dying battery
he won’t fight anymore.
And I’m still here,
phone alive,
waiting by the plug,
while he lets his go dark.
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