Telephone

His voice has become familiar to me. Almost as familiar as my mother’s or my father’s.

My ear drinks in the frequency and feels like honey down a raw throat.

There’s a warmth I feel when I hear that first “hello”, the same warmth I feel travel down my esophagus and into my chest when I sip hot tea on a bitterly cold day.

I find comfort in him. The same comfort I feel when I snuggle in the corner of the sofa surrounded by pillows, phone in hand, knowing I have nothing to do and nowhere to be.

His love envelops me, it washes over me like a warm shower after an afternoon of sweating in the sun.

I’m dependent on his existence, the same dependency to my livelihood as the fresh air I breathe on a cool summer night.

I have faith in him, the same faith I have that the yellow sun will rise when I wake up in the morning to go to work.

I feel hope with him, the same hope I feel when I chase my nephew around the yard as he giggles and screams without reserve.

His eyes see me, they see into me as clearly as I see through the stream of water flowing from the faucet as I wash the dishes and daydream about him.

That call.

He is everywhere and nowhere near me. My daily life connected to everything about him. I feel his presence in the most mundane things, things that elicit feelings that I connect back to him.

Him.

He who affects my life without living in it.

Him who I hope one day will.

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About samlobos

I am an avid fan of creating narratives in my head about random experiences and quotes for future books I will probably not write. I harbor a 15 year old girl in my psyche and like to solve world issues when I'm half asleep. View all posts by samlobos

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