Call Me Lovely

Sometimes he just sits (bitter and angry and full of doubt), but mostly he stands (pacing – back and forth, over and over), though sometimes (scarcely, rarely) he goes about normally – eating, sleeping, not waiting by the phone. Yet, it’s with a heavy heart he greets those normal days – normal means forgetting – forgetting translates into not caring, and not caring means losing. Hijikata hated losing (more than hangnails or sunny days without a cloud in sight).

So, he refused (imaging he actually had a choice in this) to let that beautiful, magnificent, amazing, adorable bastard win. “I’m not worth waiting for”; how long had it been since he heard those words (those harsh painful words) fall from that rash silvernette’s plump, soft, delectable lips? Perhaps, it had only been long enough for them to crystalize (harden – plant – stick) to the back of his mind like an annoying song (always on repeat) in the recesses of his conscious. Or maybe it had just been days (stretched - dragging into minutes that turned to hours that turned into pain, cruel uninhabited centuries of pain shoved into a few lowly days). And yet, days, minutes, seconds, years – he couldn’t bring himself to care. It had happened – that was all that counted; well that and his words (the ones that haunted him - warmed his bed, and froze his heart); “Just watch. I’ll call one day and you won’t even remember me”.

That ass would be a fool (more foolish then him – who waited, wanted, believed in something someone as surreal as a ghost) to think he would – could – forget. If there was a call – he would answer, and know that on the other line was a part of him (a separated, living, breathing piece just as essential as his lungs or heart) that was finally ready to come back to him. Now (always now – never anything else – this was just a waiting game, he couldn’t go forward or back, he just had now) it was just a matter of waiting, and not losing to shitty sunny normal days that tasted like forgetting.