I can’t see what’s ahead.
Hope feels far,
and my hands are too small to hold it.
I am lost.
What remains?
A bright phone.
Chats that last into the night,
then leave me afraid.
My heart hurts from the inside,
tired of faces on a screen.
I remember the other touch —
the one that felt real.
A room, coffee, the taste of a friend.
A sunset that asked nothing.
Can I say you are mine?
Can you whisper it softly?
Will I hug you again?
I want to step into that room again,
with a little hope for tomorrow.
Moses Twizeyimana
Moses Twizeyimana is a geologist, author, and the founder of The Margin. He spends his days noticing what others walk past, the seams in rock, the weight of light, and the quiet between people. He writes to remember what it feels like to be alive, making room for the unsent letters and imperfect stories we often hide. His work has appeared in Africa Writer Magazine.
