you called me last night.
that isn’t unusual for someone you love, is it?
normal for us, anyway.
after i delete your number,
when the bruises are starting to fade,
when i’m learning to call out words that are not your name,
my phone rings. 

i look at the string of digits that i know like the color of your eyes.
i listen to the apple-generated chiming and i swear i hear an echo of you saying my name.
and goddamn it, i pick up.
i answer the phone like you are not you and i am not me.
i answer the phone like it won’t lead to dishes shattered at my feet, to mascara-stained kleenex, to more hopeless 3 a.m. phone calls.

i answer the phone like we have a chance.
(but we don’t.)
i answer the phone like i love you again.
(because i do.)