The Untitled Call

I sit. I wait in silence.

It takes an eternity but the tone finally resonates in my ears.  A blue cord accompanies a blue telephone. Resting in my hand firmly held against my head.

Ring Ring. Nothing. An Abyss of silence, black and all things associated with nothing.

Ring Ring.

I know somewhere else, in a corner of another room, set aside a table top surrounded by the air and décor of another life, and individuals taste, soul regurgitation; Sits another telephone, almost white stained by the defected cream only formed by the stale acrid nature of smoke, echoing an empty space.  I know you’re not there, you always answer by now, but still, it’s nice to know I’m there.

It’s 1946 and I don’t know what the future holds. I finally see the beauty in the dawn again. I finally don’t flinch with the change of the wind.  Just wanted to tell you that, and that it’s Christmas. You always love Christmas.

But you probably already know this. Ring Ring. The abyss feels like diving into ice cold River, I’m there and I’m here all at once.

You’re probably on your way over. You said you’d be here by 9. It’s 8.30. Maybe I just can’t stand to be away from you this long.

Why on earth would I buy a blue phone?


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