The Tab You Never Closed Poem by Susanta Pattnayak

it's 3: 03 AM.
rain taps soft requiems
on my cracked window,
but this city breathes in pixels—
stories flicker,
bodies blur under blue lights,
neon-drenched,
half-drunk,
half-lost.

you're somewhere
in a rooftop bar
posting shots
with strangers
you don't remember.

I sit here,
hoodie up,
playlist on loop—
your favorite track,
skipped again.

no calls.
no texts.
just the glow
of a screen
that doesn't light up
with your name anymore.

I type,
then delete—
the unsent is
our final language.

feelings don't decompose
they just pile up
like tabs
we never close.

but here I am—
drowning in voice notes,
chat histories,
ghost emojis.

outside,
rain and silence.
inside,
a thousand likes
can't fill the
space you used to type in.



Susanta Pattnayak