When a friend calls
From halfway across the globe.
The force of the collision,
Consumes destitution in the entirety
And it seems like,
All events in life since the last call,
Conflate to create an endless song,
That you sing unstoppably,
To fill the distance created by space and time.
Listening to that voice,
Brings life to the photographs
We took last summer,
In between lazy afternoon drives
Or sleepy morning bike rides.
Since you left,
Picture papers that hang on my wall,
Stopped glowing as bright as the fairy lights around them,
It’s been a round around the sun already.
Your voice seems the same and yet, different-
Deepened under the weights that you choose not to mention.
I do the same.
And yet, in pauses between the tresses of our conversation,
We learn about the aesthetics of a thing called friendship.
And in that moment,
Our unshared heartbreaks,
Our untold sorrows,
Our unheard joys,
Do not matter.
Instead, what matters is the collision of timezones,
That makes the ‘distance between us’ take a backseat,
And let’s eager memories drive
The train of consciousness
Into bending timezones,
Meant just for us.