4 February 2026
I keep my phone face down because your name glows through the case. Because every vibration could be you saying you changed your mind. Because I read your old messages like scripture: goodnight with the moon emoji, the one where you said my hands looked soft, the typo where you wrote "I which" instead of "I wish" and I knew exactly what you meant.
My therapist says this isn't healthy. My phone says 34% battery and 147 minutes of screen time today, all of it your instagram, your twitter, that photo from june where the light hit your collarbone just right.
Sometimes I draft texts I'll never send. Sometimes I send them at 4am when the medication makes me brave and stupid. Sometimes you reply with a heart and I don't sleep for two days, parsing what kind of heart, why that heart, if you hesitated before choosing that specific heart.
The phone repair guy asked why my screen protector is cracked in the shape of your initial. I said I dropped it. He said that's not how glass breaks.
the blue light at 2am • Opuss № I