When I walk, or
when I talk, I keep
hearing phantom footsteps
or phone calls
from inside my bag or
my head. I turn around
or I draw my phone,
but I’m always alone.
I think people are playing tricks
on me, knowing that
secretly, I’m afraid of being out of
touch
with people. Nobody in particular–
I have no one in mind
when I hear your footfalls behind
or your ringtone in my breast pocket.
Yet they come, and
I desperately turn around,
lose my balance
in expectation
searching the crowd
or the absence of the crowd
the field within a field
for you, or, truly, anyone I recognize.
It’s so cold, grey, dead here
sound resonates down an abandoned hallway
my footsteps echoing
slightly out of sync
making the hairs
on the back
of my neck
stand on end
until I turn
and I see
no one there.
Phantom vibrations in my front pocket
let me know I’m still alive
drifting in and out of awareness
until I don’t feel your presence
and know I was imagining things
my tactile receptors firing on end
my body swelling with endorphins
in a room full of people
making me miss everyone even more.