thirty-two past eleven
August 19, 2007
around 11 pm
“please, don’t say things like that again. It hurts”
“I won’t. I’m sorry dear, you know I love you so much”
“so you’re hoping for it to happen?”
“what ? say it again.”
“but I thought….”
“enough. i don’t want to continue this conversation.”
I hung up the phone. I threw it across the room.
For the last one hour it was filled with laughter, whisper, and soft-spoken love words.
Now I can feel the tears. The desparation. The silence.
My cellphone rang. I looked at the number. It’s her again.
I clicked the button to turn off the ringtone.
I woke up. 4 messages waiting in my inbox. One from my dad. One from my friend. Two from her. I read the last message.
I’m sorry for the last night, dear
I replied it. Minutes later she called, and the conversation goes on.
I’m writing this on the old computer with this dusty keyboard. The weather is nice here in campus. Sky is clear blue and the pine trees castits shadow upon the brownish-green grass. Yudi threw something to the field and Daus reminds me to come to Reading Lights to hear a movie discussion of The Da Vinci Code. The wind blows this morning newspaper to the floor.
And I feel tired.