‹ Prequel: Desperate for Closure
Status: This is a true story. Please comment so I can share more of myself with you. :)
A Word Like Love
Sprint Voicemail Box
“Hello. You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for 775-897-3232. Please leave a message after the tone- BEEP.”
Frustrated I hit end call and tried again. It didn’t even ring this time, instead it went straight to voicemail.
“Hello. You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for 775-897-3232. Please leave a message after the tone- BEEP.”
Again I didn’t leave a message, thinking -rightly so- that another one would just be redundant. It was Christmas, who knew where he was, where his phone was, what he was doing, oh god WHO was he doing. I tried to brush it off, making excuses like these. Truth was...I didn’t know what to think. The closest I’d been to him in years was maybe a wave or two in the crowded high school hallways- waves I wasn’t even sure we’re directed toward me.
Yet I had given him flowers with a note signed just A, just with the nickname he used to use on me during late night AIM chats back in middle school when instant messenger was a crucial part to middle school relations. I had given him flowers, flowers that had no reason behind them- expect that which I refused to admit to myself.
It had always been that way: me chasing after guys that didn’t care less, me being second best, me being the one that said I love you and meant it. Me who fell in love quickly and never fell out, a point I proved to myself as I set the potted flowers down on an unknown drive way before driving away from all the fear with a growing seed of hope kindling itself in my fragile heart.
So I waited by the phone, thinking that he’d call. Thinking that a past was enough to begin a future. Or at least hoping that it was.
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“Hello. You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for 775-897-3232. Please leave a message after the tone- BEEP.”
I must have been crying by the sixth time as I stood across the street from the house where I had delivered those flowers just two and a half months ago. I knew those same neighbors that moved the flowers over to the nice-blonde-boy-across-the-street’s house could see me crying now outside my boyfriend’s house.
He wasn’t home.
It had been days. 10 days exactly.
I didn’t know where he was, or where his phone was, or what he was doing, or even who he was doing.
I just knew that the excuses would fall off his tongue like the sweet honey that his vegan mouth would never touch, and I would lap it up in the name of love. No...in the name of finding out what exactly love was, cause as I stood there staring up at the dark and empty house that held nothing but secrets and disappointment, I had no idea.
Frustrated I hit end call and tried again. It didn’t even ring this time, instead it went straight to voicemail.
“Hello. You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for 775-897-3232. Please leave a message after the tone- BEEP.”
Again I didn’t leave a message, thinking -rightly so- that another one would just be redundant. It was Christmas, who knew where he was, where his phone was, what he was doing, oh god WHO was he doing. I tried to brush it off, making excuses like these. Truth was...I didn’t know what to think. The closest I’d been to him in years was maybe a wave or two in the crowded high school hallways- waves I wasn’t even sure we’re directed toward me.
Yet I had given him flowers with a note signed just A, just with the nickname he used to use on me during late night AIM chats back in middle school when instant messenger was a crucial part to middle school relations. I had given him flowers, flowers that had no reason behind them- expect that which I refused to admit to myself.
It had always been that way: me chasing after guys that didn’t care less, me being second best, me being the one that said I love you and meant it. Me who fell in love quickly and never fell out, a point I proved to myself as I set the potted flowers down on an unknown drive way before driving away from all the fear with a growing seed of hope kindling itself in my fragile heart.
So I waited by the phone, thinking that he’d call. Thinking that a past was enough to begin a future. Or at least hoping that it was.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hello. You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for 775-897-3232. Please leave a message after the tone- BEEP.”
I must have been crying by the sixth time as I stood across the street from the house where I had delivered those flowers just two and a half months ago. I knew those same neighbors that moved the flowers over to the nice-blonde-boy-across-the-street’s house could see me crying now outside my boyfriend’s house.
He wasn’t home.
It had been days. 10 days exactly.
I didn’t know where he was, or where his phone was, or what he was doing, or even who he was doing.
I just knew that the excuses would fall off his tongue like the sweet honey that his vegan mouth would never touch, and I would lap it up in the name of love. No...in the name of finding out what exactly love was, cause as I stood there staring up at the dark and empty house that held nothing but secrets and disappointment, I had no idea.
♠ ♠ ♠
So the story line shall jump around like this, I am experimenting.Remember- life isn't all bad. I'll try and write about the good moments as well. The moments I still get tingles thinking about and the moments I can't expel from my mind because they've been branded there like a tattoo.
Please comment your feedback to encourage me to continue to share my story with you.