phone call

I was at a loss for a new piece. He called. This was written as he professed his undying love to me at 3am.

I sat there listening to him speak in hushed tones. One ear had the smooth musical stylings of Phil Collins asking for one more night through the uncomfortable ear buds that came with my MP3 player. The other ear was him. Like I said, his tones were hushed and husky. He'd been drinking again and was telling me how much he needed me. I could tell from his throaty tone that he had been drinking whiskey tonight. I smiled. Tequila must not have had enough burn to put out his feelings for me tonight.
My voice, able to project at a normal volume because I was not in a house that others who didn't know about me considered a home, was dripping with distain. Comments flowed like, "Sure..." "Ok, whatever you say..." "you're drunk.." Nothing too harsh because I didn't mean them. I wanted him to be as forlorn without me as I was without him, but I didn't want him to put out the flame that he had burning for me. I prayed that my nonchalant attitude would give said flame a burst of oxygen. Everyone always wants what they can't have, right?
He babbled about how he couldn't live without me and I tried to act as though I didn't care and it was too late for his kind words and tears. Even as he was talking and I was trying to be an a*****e, I was still thinking of him. I thought of how much appreciation he would have for the fact that I used the word "forlorn" instead of miserable. He probably would have gone with "doleful". I love that about him.