Remember those times when you called me from abroad?
Both in bed looking out the window,
But both seeing silhouettes of differently shaped leaves.
We’d speak, relay news, sometimes complain.
We often spoke till the telephone credit ran out.
A strange feeling: not knowing when our conversation would stop.
Waiting for time to run out.
And sometimes, in those moments, we didn’t need to say anything.
In those moments, it was fine to quietly wait together for time to run out.
That time was precious.