a crack in the door

you sit in the back of my phone

not breathing, not moving

if I didn’t know any better

the sound of your voice

the thrill 

of your laugh 

wouldn’t exist to anyone

buried and dead

a little crack on my screen 

I wonder if I

ever walk across yours

if you ever sit on the windowsill

 like we used to

feeling the cost of my absence 

even once

do you consider not paying it?