Epektasis

Thirty minutes late.
The screen stayed open—
a dark square
returning my face.

No room, no chair,
only the clock
reconsidering itself
once a minute.

I said nothing.
Still, my thoughts outran sense:
sirens without bodies,
corridors I have never walked,
your name set carefully
in someone else’s mouth.

I stopped myself.
I know this pattern—
how easily fear
learns the costume of concern.

You did not arrive.
No reason followed.
I let the quiet stand.

I imagined you where you are most needed—
bent close to another breaking,
your attention given away
as if it would not thin.

This is what steadies me.
This is what unsettles me.

When I speak your name aloud,
it does not call you back.
It holds me
where I am.

Tonight I set a flame
on the table—
small, unaffiliated,
owing nothing.

It wavered.
It remained.

I did not ask where you were.
I did not ask for word or proof.
I asked only that time
pass without harm.

If you were carrying something heavy,
may it have loosened its grip.
If you were silent by choice,
may that have been enough.

I will not claim you.
I will not divert what calls you.

But know this—

even waiting
is a form of watchfulness.