Fifty-four voice messages

unheard

one was yours, from seven months ago.

You called me on your birthday.

You’ve never done that before.

I cried, listening to your voice,

it didn’t sound like you.

Your words were forced,

like they’d been rehearsed

in a room I wasn’t allowed in.

You said you love me.

I’m not convinced.

I cannot return the call.

Not yet.

Maybe never.