For twelve hours I tried to call you. All through the night I lay awake, checking for your reply. Nothing. I knew you had seen my words. Seen my distress. I only wanted to know if you were okay, that you weren't hurt. But still, nothing.
One week before, you held me as I slept. You kissed my shoulders, wrapped your arms around me and whispered, "This is where you belong."
"I know," I whispered, "I know."
But even then with your arms around me so tight, even feeling so safe and so warm; there was a tug in my stomach. But I carried on despite it, your kisses so real. You told me you wouldn't let me leave, that you didn't want me to leave, and while it was not serious, I sensed your sincerity. The next morning I kissed you goodbye. Gentle with sweetness. I did not know that would be the last. I watched you leave, you seemed happy. Content. I sat in your apartment alone and packed up my things. So quiet and dimly lit. Yesterday's roast wafting in the air. Then my phone rang, my flight had been cancelled - should I stay? No, I could not.
But I should have. I should have.
You finally answered your phone. It was now 7am in the morning. I knew this call would not be good, it could not be good. I asked you why you had not replied, what had happened? I felt the silence, like death in the air. We spoke for two hours but you did not say much. You told me why, but you told me nothing. You used to say all we needed was to love each other. That that was all that mattered. I asked you why love wasn't enough anymore. And you cried. Even though I'd thought of this, it was never meant to be real. It was never meant to happen.
"I have to go." You said. I wanted to hold on, but I knew I had to let go, I knew this phone call couldn't last forever. I hung up. And all I did was cry. All I could do was cry. Tears billowed from my eyes, a river soaking my pillows and my sheets. Nothing could stop these tears. Nothing. You were my love, but you no longer want mine. And all I can do is cry.