I think last night, you were driving circles around me
I can't drink this coffee
Till I put you in my closet
Let him shoot me down
And let him call me off
Your Ghost - Greg Laswell
He had spent a lot of time contemplating. He had spent a lot of time doing a lot of things, a lot of time stuck in the closet of his memories, with the door locked and the lights off, searching for a way out. He had spent a lot of time thinking about her, torturing himself because he did not like the way the house felt without her there, the way the lights shined without her to illuminate.
So he finally got to the phone at the end of the hall, he passed the closed doors of all the rooms. He stared at it, his boundless contemplating and his foolish hoping ever present in the dry air. It took three months to dial the digits, an old phone number he engraved into his desk to ease it from his memory, but still it laid there like a soul in a somebody. It rang and it waited. He had spent a lot of time waiting, pinching himself for a wake to a dream. When the ringing stopped the waiting stopped too and when a deep voice spoke in place of a soft one, the pain did as well.
βHi? Hello?β asked the voice.
He had spent a lot of time in silence.
βHello?β once again asked the voice.
βSuddon, Hadamik.β He paused, βIs she there?β
βNo, deceased.β This he knew; this he knew for a very long time. A hope, and a disbelief, and a love, he also knew for a very long time. Immediately the voice was gone, as was the line, but the pain was still frozen in place. The pain spent a lot of time frozen in place, so much that it was never again a melted.
He had spent all his time realizing she could never come back.
