The phone tinkles And blinks with excitement Dancing with a toddler's anticipation Of sweets on her birthday With a special message That the girl had shoved To the swamps On the outermost edges Of her consciousness And stomped into the murky depths Without even stopping To watch the bubbles from its gasping mouth Surface on the sludgey waters
Disturbed, the girl stretches her dream-numbed arms Like new rubber bands And for a moment shifts back into the blanket cave Snuggling her pillow In a half-hearted gesture of farewell Before clawing at the bedside table For the ticking bomb that beckons her from sleep.
Unholy light assaults her groggy sleep-puffed eyes As the phone trembles enthusiastically in her hand
One year anniversary
Her whole body winces Teeth grit, vise-like, as she tries to shove the memory down Fingers scramble at the stubby keys
Delete. Where is delete?
Reminder deleted The phone seems saddened
If only it were that easy.
In an effort to comfort her The phone slides into bed beside the girl And keeps her company As she stares at the knots in the wood on the ceiling Which trail across the inky sky of her memory Like the comets of a night picnic That was labored over And planned out By a boy with high hopes, bright smiles, and a haunted spirit Who drew out her optimist and romantic with naive skill Only to be betrayed by the duality of her being: Her realist and her pessimist; The downside of new love and long distances.
The phone sighs a ping.
Just wanted to wish you safe travels before you head off He sent
The irony of timing was not lost on her In spite of her fuzzy morning brain
His message on the phone which she had cradled As he told her a story to fall asleep to The phone they had talked through To tell the minute details of monotonous lives To send messages that gave butterflies And lit up faces with beaming sun smiles The phone that she saw controlling her actions When he was a world away The phone that showed her a stranger she committed herself to The phone that had outright asked her: "Are you breaking up with me?" The phone that had whispered "Yes, I think I am" And then echoed hours of his tears And confessions of depression That pierced her guilty conscience to the core But strengthened her shoddily constructed resolve
The phone into which He had tenderly placed A reminder for her On the night she decided To be young and silly and foolish For once in her life: The night she regretted Three months later when she said goodbye And twelve months later When it reminded her Of how painful young and stupid can be.