We count time in time zones
still —
your goodnight slips three hours
after mine.
I send you sunrises
you never ask for.
You reply with stars
as if they mean the same thing.
Calls stretch thin—
like thread pulled too far
to be string anymore.
We talk about the weather
as if it's different for each of us.
You say it's cold.
I say, "me too".
But I'm talking about something else.
The signal's clear
but you still
don't hear me.
We talk
like passengers in different cities
watching the same train go by.
Maps don't explain it.
Kilometres don't measure it.
You're right here—
and still,
I miss you
like you're
on the other side of the world.
And maybe
you are.
