Pocket Stories #6

I called him. 
The phone rang, busy, never connected. 

Back then, we didn’t have voicemail, no answering machine. Wouldn’t have used it anyway.

I wrote him blank letters that never saw anything else but a dark cupboard.

I think I didn’t really want to get hold of him. 

The cycle of pain, what was love but beautiful pain? 

I called her. One ring was all I could go before hanging up every time – what if she picked up? What if he picked up? I didn’t write any letters. I wanted her; why then didn’t I let it ring on? 

I think I couldn’t help wanting her, loving her, she was my sweetheart! But .. my ego wouldn’t let me talk to her. She who turned to him. 

It was my fault I let her feel lonely. 

How I wish she had understood .. 

I let her loosely tethered ..not cut loose. 

A part of me, now apart from me. 

Years and years, this lifetime and beyond. 

She fired up her grand daughter’s computer. There was this new thing called Facebook. 

One last look. 

Anything for one last look. 



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