(no subject)
Is it pride that won't let my hand touch the phone? Or fear?
I'm going to say fear. What if this that I am feeling right now is just a product of the cold and music? What if I call you, desperate and lovesick and nostalgic? What if I beg you? What things would scamper over my teeth and past my lips? What words would dive off my tongue? I worry about these thoughts that swim. I wonder if they are real. I know what I might say. What I don't know is if they are true. Could they be culminations of the imminent winter, our recent conversations, this particular order of lyrics and notes? My ceaseless memories, my apparent loneliness, my nearly neurotic nostalgia?
God I hope not/my hand is reaching for the phone.
How long will I embrace the dial tone?
I'm going to say fear. What if this that I am feeling right now is just a product of the cold and music? What if I call you, desperate and lovesick and nostalgic? What if I beg you? What things would scamper over my teeth and past my lips? What words would dive off my tongue? I worry about these thoughts that swim. I wonder if they are real. I know what I might say. What I don't know is if they are true. Could they be culminations of the imminent winter, our recent conversations, this particular order of lyrics and notes? My ceaseless memories, my apparent loneliness, my nearly neurotic nostalgia?
God I hope not/my hand is reaching for the phone.
How long will I embrace the dial tone?