This is me killing time before work...
Follows "Naming the Beast"
I walked away. You let me do it. Somehow I found the guts to walk out the door of your apartment, and I didn't even look back.
It's better this way, isn't it? This way you don't have to say whatever it is you were steeling yourself to be able to say. This way I don't have to listen to you saying it. Everybody's happy.
And I lie badly. I'm not happy. I'm miserable. When I close my eyes, I see you standing at your stove, disbelief in your eyes. If I look hard enough, I can see the hope cracked in two.
I could have sworn that I was being the strong one. The noble one. How come you always end up being the hero?
I haven't slept again since I left your place. Was it two or three days ago? I don't know anymore. I don't know anything right now, except that wrapping my arms around a pillow is a poor, sad substitute for wrapping my arms around you. I've tried to sleep, I swear I have, but I'm too restless. Isn't it wonderful? I've spent one night sleeping with you, and I'm already hopelessly addicted to the feeling of your body lying next to mine.
I'm sorry. If I called you, would you let me say that much at least? I won't ask you to forgive me, that would be too much too soon, but I'd like to apologize. For being an idiot. For being selfish. For being in love with you.
I just want to hear your voice.
Sluggishly, I move to the telephone. And I stare at it. Do I dare? I've had a lot of nerve in my life, but this... takes real courage. This takes making myself vulnerable. I'm scared.
I lift my hand to the receiver.
The phone rings.
Feedback... feedback will keep me from going face-down into my coffee and drowning there...