Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Last Time You Called...

I was asleep. I was asleep because I didn’t care. Maybe I didn’t want to care, maybe it was too hard to try.

I felt alone. It was dark and I wrapped my sheets around me tight and lay there expecting to die. Because no matter how many times you call me, no matter how many times you try to right the wrongs, it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I would just as soon hang up on you anyways.

Glisten. Shine. Feel vindicated as those tears spread the warmth of your logic down your face. Embrace the magic. Erase the pain.

Because honestly, I never could. Because honesty was overrated for you. Living lies. Deathly cries. The forced departure of meaning is like a delayed flight from L.A. to NYC, or missing the A-train a billion times over. You don’t quite wanna make it. It’s improbable but not impossible.

And if you took the equation of us and multiplied my pain by 5, your anger by 6, and our relationship times 10…you’d have the equivalent of another Hiroshima.

Your call instills that fear within me. That if I pick up the phone, I’m dead. My hair will stand on end, lungs will burn, and my eyes will melt out of their sockets.

This time I won’t be so stupid. The powder becomes the rock. The rock will be weathered but not petrified. So maybe we are all just frozen solid, waiting for someone to come shatter us like a kid would smash an intricate ice sculpture.

This time, I won’t be your aftermath. This time, I will not be your disaster.

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