
It has been eight years. Time passes. It creates a distant fog, blurring memories. I was thinking while sitting by myself, what if there was a magic line on which you could talk to your departed other half. No one knows how long one is going to live,or how soon it will be time to go. Hence these few lines.
I’m ringing your phone
Hoping to hear
You were coming back home
I never knew
How futile it will be
To not hear from you
A magic line, appearing above
The sound of your voice
Coming through
Sitting alone
Longing for you
To be back home
Life was, as it was
(Sheen, August 2020)