I pick up, put down the phone.

I thought about calling you today. I thought about your numbers and my thumb gingerly ran over each one in order.

Sometimes your absence screams and the only thing that I can think of to stop it is to put the phone to my ear and wait for the familiar, “hello?”

Did you notice I didn’t call? Do you feel my absence in the air like a fume that makes you choke?

I think about the things I’d say to you; some of them good, some of them not so good. Still, I can always think of something. I guess that’s how I know the scars on my heart aren’t quite scars yet.

I can hear the rain outside of the window and tapping on the roof. Each sound makes me think maybe you’ve come back, maybe the door will budge like it used to and you’d walk in. I can picture your face. Sometimes I see regret, sometimes I see a smile. Most of the time it makes my stomach churn.

The pictures scattered around the place don’t have you in them and I wonder if there are any of you still stored away somewhere. Printed and folded somewhere, or maybe in a phone I don’t look that far back on.

I swear I try not to dwell on the past. Even in these times where you fill the space around me, I know better than to look for you.

Even when my fingers trace those numbers in the right order, I know not to press down. I know not to put the phone to my ear to listen to the dial, and pray for your voice to be on the other end.

Sometimes I think about calling you. Sometimes I don’t think of you at all.

One day it will be the last day you’ll be lurking in my mind and until then, I’ll be sure not to press those numbers.

I’ll be sure to wait it out.


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