January 21, 2009

hands like sleeping doves

"Hi This is ****. I don't know why I called you. Actually, I can't believe that I called you, and now I am anxious as to whether you will call back. Anyway, please don't, unless you want to talk. Goodbye."



I don't know why he called either. I can't believe that he did. And I am the one who is anxious as to whether he will again or not. I don't think I want him to. I don't want to talk. So I guess that means I shouldn't call back. It's been just about 5 years now.
I have too many memories of phone calls in concrete stairwells, silently holding the phone to my ear only to hear rattling unsteady breaths laced with so much uncertain hatred but also a mad sort of sadistic hope.
I did everything wrong. Scrapping what I had already botched. I think I said everything absolutely wrong, in just the worst most ungraceful way a person could. But that could be just as well. After all, I had meant it. I believed that I meant it at the time.

Augh. I don't know what to do. Ever. But especially right now.

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