Don’t Call

It’s better, really, that he hasn’t called. The smell of his hair, the curve of his neck, the muscles in his arms have begun to creep into my thoughts. The image of him smiling as he bends to kiss me, the sound of his moan in the dark have  struck at tender wounds I thought closed and healed.

Now, turning down the bedclothes I catch myself eyeing the distance between bed and phone, wondering if I’d make it before the machine picked up. Oh, Hell no you don’t,  I scolded myself, surprised and irritated. Goddammit, already too many red flags. The comfort of his arm around me as we left  the restaurant, the space between our bodies as we stood outside my car, the light of the moon making his eyes shine,  things that stayed with me, emerging unbidden during the day, interrupting, distracting.

Now it’s 5 days and no call and I’m wondering why? Again. Oh hell no, I repeated savagely. Yanking the  cord from the wall, I carried the phone into the livingroom, as far from my bed as I could. Call, don’t call, I’m going to bed. Alone.

Curled under my blankets, listening to branches scrape against my window and the low  moan of the wind I thought; it’s better, really, that he doesn’t call. Ever.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s