The Things We Left on Read

The chat history scrolls back farther than we lasted,

blue and gray bubbles like cheap wallpaper

We never bothered to peel off.

There are messages we left on read

like dishes in the sink—

technically “done,”

but not really taken care of.

Your “hey, you up?” at 00:37,

my “yeah, just thinking” at 00:39,

Both of us staring at the three little dots

like they were a crystal ball

We were too afraid to touch.

Later, longer paragraphs:

You explaining how tired you were,

me heart-reacting instead of typing,

“I know, I’m tired of me too.”

Some apologies never sent,

still waiting in drafts like suitcases

by a door we stopped using.

I screenshot one old joke

and keep it in a secret folder

with photos of the sky

On days I almost felt okay.

We didn’t leave each other on read,

not exactly—

We left the honest parts,

the “I’m scared” and “I don’t know how to do this”

blinking behind our eyes

while our thumbs wrote safer things

and pretended that was a reply.