The conversation

The conversation imprint fades the longer the phone stays in the pocket. A memory of her light laughter brings a smile, a sliver of peace on a heavy day. My hand clutches the phone in the pocket as if it knows what happiness the device helped bring, and itself - the hand - intends to somehow please its master by using it again.

Colors darken with the closing of eyelids, shades to the impending work. What days can bring, surely the days can take away. Let me shield myself, this being and its heart, safely into the black. Time may slip, but it is a price paid earnestly with thoughts of her keeping the smile ever-present.

The head leans gently on the wall as, crouched in a corner, my thoughts begin to slow.