“Oh just remember the telephones, well they’re working in both ways
but if I never ever hear them ring,
If nothing else I’ll think the bells inside
Have finally found you someone else and that’s okay,
Cause I’ll remember everything you sang.”
I know that like an unspoken rule, we’re not supposed to talk every so often, not supposed to say a lot of things about our lives now or bring back a lot of memories. Basically not supposed to do or say anything we want to, cause we both know how that would backfire.
I should be happy with 5 lines from time to time, and you shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t think of you, and you shouldn’t be sad cause it’s just 5 lines from time to time. But we both know this connection of ours goes beyond the time we spent apart , the distance that separates us now and all those words that should’ve never been said. And yes, the telephone stopped ringing a long time ago (like in that song you sent me), and yes, we might as well be strangers. But thing is we’re not, and I still think of you at least 3 times a day, every day.
I like talking to you cause you are my past, and my past is who I am.
I like you cause you understand everything I tell you and everything I don’t, and all the rubbish I talk. And you know where that comes from, cause you know me like I know the taste of cold milk in the evenings and you were beside me to see it all go down and rise again, and again, every fucking time.
There are evenings when I just stare at your offline name like a psychic, hoping that clenching my fists and listening to an acoustic song would make that name pop-up in the corner of my screen and make you say hello, like it happens in the movies, or cartoons, or any other fake and shallow media production. But you were never fake and shallow and you never go online when I’m dying to tell you something about my course, or meditation, or just see your semi-dark room and hear the dog barking. And that’s how it happens, I wait, then I feel sorry, then I wish I were there with you tonight. Then I just go to sleep cause it’s useless, and I wish you bloody knew that the last image I see before failing to stop the eyelids from falling at night is you.
That being said, I’m going to bed. I’m okay, you know. You kinda taught me how to be ok, apart from making the best omlette in the world. So I have OK and I have Omlette. I will survive. I just..
I’m not supposed to say.