I suddenly found myself in one of those difficult long drawn nights where you spend hours pining aimlessly over the what ifs and what nots of someone's absence.
While I know I shouldn't hope, I can't help but receive a call at some ungodly hour with silence on the other end of the line.
I thought it might have been him.
Maybe even secretly, I wished it might have been him.
Until my realization kicked in that a deep voiced meek woman chirped from the other end of the line.
With the whole saga, I'd primed myself not to pick up any more house calls because I don't know who might be on the other end of the line. I only answer my hand phone and even so, it's done selectively with the help of my caller-ID.
Having learnt the art of silence, I hadn't yet unlearnt the silence, to recover myself from the realization that I could, I should speak. Even if out of mere courtesy.
Disappointment aplenty, I hastily informed her that she had gotten the wrong number and secretly resolved to keep this embarrassing moment to a once-off.
It was an off moment. Indeed.
He wouldn't call.
No.
He shouldn't call.
*cue Bruno Mars - talking to the moon in the background.
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