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.