It brings me closer to you

It Brings Me Closer to You

The quiet hum of midnight traffic  

filters through the cracked window,  

carrying your name like a secret  

no one else can hear.  

I close my eyes and let it settle  

in the hollows of my chest—  

it brings me closer to you.

A single coffee cup, still warm,  

sits on the counter where your hands  

last lingered, thumbprint faint  

on the rim like a promise.  

I trace it with my fingertip  

and taste the same dark roast  

we shared at dawn—  

it brings me closer to you.

Across the miles, your voice arrives  

in pixels, laughing at some small thing  

I said weeks ago. The screen glows  

soft as your skin under lamplight,  

and suddenly the room forgets  

its emptiness. Distance dissolves  

into pixels and breath—  

it brings me closer to you.

Even the rain tonight  

knows the shape of your shoulders,  

how it used to slide down them  

when we stood on the porch,  

unwilling to go inside.  

Every drop that taps the glass  

is a footstep returning—  

it brings me closer to you.  

And when sleep finally claims me,  

I carry the echo of your heartbeat  

tucked beneath my own,  

a small, stubborn flame  

that refuses the dark.  

No matter how far the morning stretches,  

this ordinary ache  

brings me closer to you.