There is no antidote
Last night I spoke to you on the phone in the dark, my feet pale in the streetlight.
It was one of those conversations full of whimsy, beautiful in its intricate dance - like a watercolour painted frenetically, colours bleeding into each other.
By the time we'd passed midnight, I was starting to yawn. My words sat poised, ready to spill into a sleepy goodbye, and then your voice shifted slightly and we somehow stumbled into one of those searingly honest talks.
There are three people in the world I cannot lie to. The truth streams from me, unadorned by soft words or subtle omissions. You are one of them.
The only way I can save myself from emerging from the shadows, naked, blemished and trembling is to hold my breath and hope... hope you won't ask.
But in that moment, you asked.
I could feel the conversation expanding beneath me, billowing up and out into the night; the truth had just started to uncurl inself from my tightly clenched fist - and then your phone ran out of credit.
But by then we could both see the faint outlines of things which had been unsaid.
I awoke, overalert on three hours sleep, knowing instantly that it would only be 12 hours until we continued where we left off. The whole day was spent waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It is now 8:30pm. Reduced call rates have just kicked in - our usual cue. But I sit here, watching the phone. A slow minute ticks by.
And I know that 1000 kilometres away, you too are sitting, watching your phone.
It was one of those conversations full of whimsy, beautiful in its intricate dance - like a watercolour painted frenetically, colours bleeding into each other.
By the time we'd passed midnight, I was starting to yawn. My words sat poised, ready to spill into a sleepy goodbye, and then your voice shifted slightly and we somehow stumbled into one of those searingly honest talks.
There are three people in the world I cannot lie to. The truth streams from me, unadorned by soft words or subtle omissions. You are one of them.
The only way I can save myself from emerging from the shadows, naked, blemished and trembling is to hold my breath and hope... hope you won't ask.
But in that moment, you asked.
I could feel the conversation expanding beneath me, billowing up and out into the night; the truth had just started to uncurl inself from my tightly clenched fist - and then your phone ran out of credit.
But by then we could both see the faint outlines of things which had been unsaid.
I awoke, overalert on three hours sleep, knowing instantly that it would only be 12 hours until we continued where we left off. The whole day was spent waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It is now 8:30pm. Reduced call rates have just kicked in - our usual cue. But I sit here, watching the phone. A slow minute ticks by.
And I know that 1000 kilometres away, you too are sitting, watching your phone.