This is for you,
midnight ceiling,
neon leaking through the blinds.
This is for you,
3am heartbeat,
tapping Morse on plastic cups.
This is for you,
cheap store candle,
strawberry wax that never burns.
This is for you,
quiet static,
humming lullabies to ghosts.
This is for you,
all the almosts
folded into paper planes—
throw them off the roof,
watch them orbit back to you.