Another Year Gone by Lori Yamamoto

office lights buzz fireworks on the lawn outside another year gone quiet cubicle hums low screen glows on clean face coworkers whisper she’s polite, maybe a little odd no one sits close they leave early, lights dim slow she stays to breathe phone buzzes soft his words spill like warm coffee spark in pocket temporary truce at midnight daylight will turn cold miss the hallway keycard click, vending hum almost love glows empty frame on clean desk she keeps trying to fix it waiting delicate like rain before the break leaving hurts staying writes worse reports two-year wait text sent at 2 a.m., unread regret curls quiet secret waits in typing dots tonight’s plan vague just going home, elevator sighs screen glows lonely silent patient wait another night fades