You’re only a phone call, a text message, away. It would be so easy to type in your name and write out everything that has been on the tip of my tongue for months. Every thought I’ve had, every emotion I’ve felt, every word left unsaid. I would tell you how much I miss you; tell you how I wake up some days and I can’t breathe quite right because of the ache you left in my chest. I would tell you about everything you’ve missed – graduation, my promotion at work, all my adventures – you would tell me how proud you are of me; your voice would soften around my name, your gaze full of uncertainty and hope. How easy it would be to let the words spill from my lips and finally feel relief from this never-ending ache. You’re only a phone call, a text message away, but none of that makes you less out of reach. Every time I reach for my phone, I feel the weight of the possibilities; my fingertips burn, yearning to type out everything that I am drowning in – but you are just out of reach, a hair too far from my grasp. Everything that once brought us together, now stands between us. My phone has become a deserted museum of what once was – looted of its monuments; only specks of the past remain, glimpses of what could have been. Once full of hope, and laughter, and promises, now barren and forgotten. I ache to walk through its hallways, run my fingers over the walls, but there is nothing left for me there. No evidence that there was ever anything worth displaying – worth remembering.
unsent messages 2.0 (3/?) by (DS)
