Friday, May 11

she fell off the face of the planet, just like that. no words, no letters, no numbers. only return to sender envelopes, blocked e-mail addresses and an endless telephone ring. you can hear it ring inside your head. you hope that if you start talking then she'd pick up the phone, because that always seems to happen when you don't want it to, resulting in you having to explain why you said "ass" when they said "hello". you would rather she said "hello" and hung up than this never ending ring. it's inside your ears, it's inside your head, it's inside your dreams. you've woken up to the phone ringing three times, and only one of them was the actual phone. telemarketer. you asked her name three times just in case. the accent killed hope at the "good evening, sorry to call you, but my name is Lina and we fantastic deals on...". it was also the sorry part. she would never be sorry to call. that wasn't like her. she would be sorry if she hurt you or if your goldfish died, but not for calling. she didn't believe that someone should be sorry for trying to communicate, unless they were trying to sell something. that's why her absence is scaring you. why the ringing phone haunts you. because she hasn't called. she hasn't said, or written, or typed, or encrypted a single word to you. you don't have any photos of her and her letters you can't seem to find. it's like she may have never existed at all. there's nothing. except for the words carved into your mind. and your heart. and your soul.
"don't forget me..."


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