You wrote me 87 love letters, the ones I stuffed in a lockbox for safekeeping. Still, I forgot the combination so I turned the radio up louder, tried to recall your words, that feeling inside until I slipped away, moved, and left it all behind.
Or, I thought I did.
Later, I discovered your number was unlisted. There’s no trace of you anywhere.
Sometimes, when the rain comes, I can hear you laughing. I hear that song, how doves cry, and time seems to stop, somehow.
I think I can see you under the streetlight or inside a trendy bar. I think I feel you near me, like a soft whisper on the back of my neck, as the music throbs, shakes-shakes, it seems to shake the the entire sky.