Like a slap to the face,
Your name lights up on my screen.
My vision becomes blurred,
And the space around me starts
To lose it's clarity.
My face flushes,
And my mind goes blank.
I just stare at it a few minutes.
It looks foreign.
Maybe I'm just imagining this.

The voices in my head
Begin their chorus
"What does he want?"
"Don't read it!"
"He's thinking about you."
"You're not going to like what this says."
And before I can think rationally,
I watch my hand reach down,
And delicately lift up the phone.

My thumb shakily
Drags the grey arrow
Across the small glass screen.
I heard the click of the lock
Being hesitantly pulled open
And I'm halfway there.

I see the grey bubble
On the left side,
Small, but real.
Time: 7:32.
I double check,
and yes
It's definitely from you.
I take a deep breath
And read.

It's just a question.
A simple question.
You even use my name.
That stings.
I could respond a solemn yes or no,
And remind you that no,
We're not friends.
It still hurts.

I could respond a few words,
A sentence even,
In affirmation, filled with pleasantry,
But then you would really know
That it still hurts,
Because you still know
How to see straight through me.

I'm conflicted,
So I take the neutral path.
Short, but not blunt,
And devoid of all notion of emotion.

But its the next "ding"
On my cracked phone screen
That takes me aback.
Drag, click, read.
A new grey bubble appears,
"But when we were dating..."
And with the push of the small, silver button
Everything went black.

I still do not know
What the rest of the message said.
You can lock your phone
And hide a message,
From you tear-stained face.
But you cannot lock away
Floods of pain and memory.