She is the hot breath crackling
too close to the phone’s mic,
a phantom kiss on the ear.
I feel the sum of our love best right
here when she tells me about what
I’ve missed since I’ve been away.
She dances around the betrayal,
how she wishes I would’ve just
stayed so the wound of our lonely
could’ve been stitched by ten minutes
in a car and not two hours, fifty-two
dollars on the train. When I hear her
fall away into sleep I close my eyes
and pretend she is the pillow I lie on.
In the morning I wake to the sweet
whistle of her snore and I hang up,
make coffee and wish I could’ve
slept in, dreamt some more.
Isabella Lopez (she/her) is an English major at Temple University. Much of her writing is inspired by her experiences as a queer woman, dealing with mental illness, and rediscovering religion. When she is not oversharing online, Isabella is probably binging teen soap operas, playing with her dog, or preparing for her 2030 senate campaign.