Every evening, I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over the call button.

I want to hear my mom’s voice, tell her about my day, ask about hers. But a quick glance at the clock reminds me, it’s 3 AM where she is. She’s probably wrapped in blankets, dreaming, unaware her child on the other side of the world is missing her.

By the time the sun rises on her side, mine is setting, or I’m drowning in my work schedule. We keep missing each other, like stars chasing the sun.

Still, every so often, we catch that perfect sliver of overlap. A five-minute call. A laugh. An "I love you."
Enough to carry us to the next one.