public call box at 2 am

I hear your voice saying hello

sounded so longing as if you've been expecting your phone to ring at 2 am yet so guarded as if a bad news is coming in your way 

I keep inserting coins until I realize the last one jams the slot as I heard your patience got cut off before the berserk beeps repeat on themselves and end the line.

I smell the wet road through the broken glass, the night is too quiet I could hear my heart beating hysterically

I take a deep breath and bring my index finger to dial the numbers once again

outside, the rain take its turn again while my blue denim jacket was just about to dry 

I process my words letter by letter, as if my brain is a typewriter
hoping my tongue don't get tied in between the words 

"hello? may I go to you now? I miss you, this is me speaking"