One day it’ll be 3 am and you’ll get this unexplainable rush of nostalgia
that will hit you like the rays of a thousand suns.
You’ll rush to your bedside drawer or maybe the back lining of your cupboard,
Wherever you keep memories stacked away now
And drown into pages that
Once spoke of a majestic love of a girl and a timid affair of a guy.
You’ll pick up your phone and try to ring the same number
You had once written on the strings of your callous heart
But this time instead of her voice,
All you hear is static and emptiness.
This is when you know that sometimes
All you get is a few moments of ancient history
In the middle of the night to yourself
And nobody else is in whose hands
You can pour your half empty words into.
Her number has long since changed.