Brick of Hope

Thoughts of connection—
whose notifications would soothe the ache?
I stare at the phone,
a brick riddled with hope,
hoping for a sound,
a flicker of light to break the silence.

I lay here, morning seeping through the cracks,
though I went to bed early the night before,
hoping for rest that never truly came.
The hours stretch thin, the dawn arrives,
but still, I lie here well past the rising sun.

A glimmer of hope seeps into my mind—
a whisper that today could be different,
that realities can change if only I move,
that maybe this is the moment
to break the cycle, to rise,
to shed this bed that swallows me whole.

But the thoughts drift as quickly as they come,
like morning mist dissolving in the sun.
It’s time to get up, to break free,
yet the sheets pull me back,
a weight I can’t shake.

I sink deeper into the mattress,
the thoughts that once sparked action
fading like dying stars in a cloudy sky.
I tell myself, just a little longer,
just a few more minutes to gather my strength.

But minutes become hours,
hours become days,
and still, I wait
for a sound, a light,
a notification that will never arrive.

The phone sits heavy in my hand—
a brick of hope, a symbol of despair.
I scroll through empty screens,
searching for a connection
that might make this hollow ache
feel a little less real.

But all I find is silence,
the kind that fills rooms
and drowns thoughts.
And so I retreat, once more,
back into the embrace of my bed,
back into the comfort of not trying,
the ease of letting the world pass by.

For maybe tomorrow,
or maybe the day after,
the light will come,
the sound will chime,
and I’ll find the strength
to leave this wallowing bed behind.

But for now, I wait,
and the world keeps spinning
while I remain still—
a soul adrift,
clinging to the hope of a notification
that might never come.