You used to call me in the middle of the night.
The sounds of the loudest possible ringtone would wake me right on cue.
You, calling from that small town where people go not to die but to kill.
Me, answering from that big city where there are so many people I got lost in the crowd.
We’d be in eachothers presense until the light had risen over the treetops but you hadn’t yet answered the questions I wanted to ask.
And now the scent of the chilly not-yet- morning air is like a no longer dormant call from you.