Static Between Our Songs

We used to tune like matched guitars, two bodies, one bright chord.

A needle dropping clean on love, no skips we couldn’t afford.

But lately every chorus lands with snow across the track—

a static stitched with almost-words, a hiss that pulls us back.

°°°

Your laughter comes in FM waves that fade behind a hill;

My answers try to modulate but can’t quite hold them still.

We pass each other stations, love—hit scan and then rewind.

And miss the melody we wrote by half a second’s mind.

°°°

I bring a mixtape of my truths, you bring your vinyl doubts;

We hum along to different keys and cancel ourselves out.

The room becomes a radio that crackles when we speak.

with lightning in the copper veins and thunder in the leak.

°°°

I swear I hear our better tune beneath the splintered air—

a backbeat made of grocery lists, of coat hooks, and of care.

It’s in the way you pour the tea, then wait for me to taste;

It’s in the bridge that patience builds across our hurried haste.

°°°

Let’s tilt the rabbit ears of us and ask the storm to wait.

Untangle wires we knotted up with pride disguised as fate.

Let silence be a metronome that steadies what we keep,

and let our throats remember how to sing what grief can’t sweep.

°°°

If every love becomes, in time, a record loved to wear,

Then let our scratches be the proof that music lived us there.

We’ll sand the edges, clean the stylus, slow the win-or-wrongs.

And find the signal, hand in hand, through static between our songs.