Everything passes. It has to. That's the beauty and tragedy of it.
He calls me after months of strained silence
Wait. Did I say “call”? My bad.
He texts me like a coward – two timid question marks.
A nudge. A careful testing of waters.
So that’s how he culminates a long drawn silence.
And when I don’t immediately respond, he tries again.
This time with a tentative “How’re you doing?”
He doesn’t care. He never has, I tell myself.
Maybe he woke up today and I popped in his head
Maybe he’s just plain old curious.
And I’m still furious at his irrational sullen silence.
So I choose to make him squirm with my own.
Some part of me hates that he feels he has a chance,
That he might bring back the tide of misery.
Another part of me can’t help but gloat,
that he’s decided to reach out first. At last.
Once I’d have gambled it all, lost my peace of mind.
And my world would have shifted in its orbit for him.
But now I’m glad my numb old heart
doesn’t skip a beat anymore…