Thursday, February 27, 2014

Tonight.

After days spent silently missing you, stubbornly refusing to swallow this wretched pride inside me: I finally got the courage to call you.

And it felt right. Really, it did.

I wanted to say sorry, to say I’m wrong…but all I managed was this small “Hi!” that almost sounded like a squeak.

Too many things happened within those numbered days…and I just want to recount every single thing.

But you stopped.

Said you’re busy.

And that I must call back.

I wanted to say I’m afraid.

I wanted to say so badly that I’m terrified for tomorrow.

I’m having one of my greatest fears realized, and I can’t hold on to something but my hand.

"I have to face that wretched fear…"

I can’t count how many times I repeated that in order for it sink in.

I know my mind would go haywire.

And I know that if I can’t hold it in, I would explode in myself.

I wanted to scream…but the other line’s dead now.

 It took that long beep to realize that I am all alone in this — again.

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