Last Night s Ghost Still Texts Me

A cycle of poems «The Night Won’t Let Me Forget You»

A single ping at 2:17 -
Your name lights up like ancient flame.
I know I should just swipe it clean…
But ghosts don’t die. They just stay unseen.

It says, "Hey, I was thinking of you,"
Three words that crack my armor wide.
No context, no apology due -
Just memory knocking from inside.

You sent it drunk, or lonely, or bored,
Maybe mistyped, maybe meant to send.
But now my heart is back on board
That train we swore would never end.

I stare at "Delivered" like a prayer,
Fingers hovering over reply.
One word could wake the dead from air -
But what if you don’t mean "hi"?

We deleted photos, blocked your song,
Changed passwords just to feel control.
But you keep slipping through the wrong
Notifications of my soul.

Last night’s ghost still texts me,
Like love’s a debt I’ll never be free.
A blue bubble in the dark,
Reopening every healing mark.
I should block you. I should flee -
But part of me still believes in “me and thee.”

I found your hoodie in my drawer,
Still smells like smoke and midnight drives.
I wear it when I can’t take much more -
Like fabric makes your presence live.

And every time your message lands,
I scroll through years of saved goodbyes:
"I miss this." "Can we try again?" "Hands."
All proof we loved too hard to hide.

You say you’ve moved on, found someone new,
But why then do you reach for me?
Is loneliness the only truth
That dares to speak so quietly?

I mute your name, I turn off sound,
But dreams replay what phones erase.
You’re not here - but you linger ‘round
In every un-erased embrace.

Last night’s ghost still texts me,
Like love’s a debt I’ll never be free.
A blue bubble in the dark,
Reopening every healing mark.
I should block you. I should flee -
But part of me still believes in “me and thee.”

Maybe ghosts aren’t spirits lost,
But choices we refuse to close.
Every text, every cost,
Is just the past in modern clothes.

And maybe love doesn’t die with words -
It lives in silence, space, and doubt.
In unanswered calls, in unread thirds,
In what we can’t live with… or without.

So if you're reading this right now,
Somewhere far, or half-asleep -
Know I almost typed it back… but how
Do you say goodbye… again… so deep?

I delete the thread. I power down.
I swear this time, I’ll let it go.
But midnight wears a different crown -
And somehow, ping… the screen still glows.

Last night’s ghost still texts me…
And I’m still weak.
And I’m still…
waiting.