I'm still waiting for the reply that never comes

I dreamed I was back at the station, not on air, just sitting in the booth with the mic off. The headphones were on, and I could hear my own voice from three years ago—playing a song I’d forgotten. Not the one I’d chosen, but the one someone had requested at 2:17 a.m., the night before they stopped calling. The tape kept looping, but the request line stayed silent. I reached for the phone to call them back, but the cord was gone. Just static. And then I realized—I wasn’t trying to reach them. I was waiting for them to finally say what they never did.