The silence.
Speech of the dark.
The familiar sound of the ringing telephone breaking the peace.
The familiarity pounding the heart with patterns of the ring.
Eyes open up in a flash as if in a reflex to the distant sound.
The expectancy, of hearing him speak, the sound of his voice, his yearning for love, his show of affection.
That train of thought, rushing through like early morning mail chugging through a small place on the country side to a distant land, is brought to a halt … “Phone aylay” (You've got a call)
Collecting myself in a rush, crossing the ocean of darkness, hearing the chirps of morning birds, with a touch of scent of the morning mist, feeling the slight cool of the winter morning.
Reaching to the box that is privy to my conversations with him, all the while still, motionless, rid of emotion.
Hello… I whisper into the phone, my heart smiling.
