the boys i've loved and the end of the world

god, you did a fucking number on me

i keep calling you. can't stop calling. can't put the phone down. i get your voicemail every time and i cry because you don't sound angry at me on your voice mail. "hey, can't get to the phone right now, leave a message and i'll call you back." you sound good. happy. you sound like you're happy i'm calling and it doesn't make sense because everyone hears the same thing but to me it's like you're not sick of me. same voicemail after every call. it doesn't change. it doesn't transform into, "for fuck's sake can you stop calling me," or, "just leave me alone dammit," or, "i don't fucking love you anymore i told you," and i know it wouldn't do that but it's reassuring somehow that it doesn't anyway.

i ignore that my mother has threatened to take my phone if i don't stop. i ignore that my friends have stopped asking if i'm okay because what's the point if they know the answer won't ever fucking change. i don't listen to them because they don't know how it feels.

we aren't finished. i tell them that we aren't finished. you left with half the pages in the book still blank, so we must have another chance because why would you leave before the book was finished? they tell me that maybe i have to finish the book myself and i ignore them. i call you and listen to your voicemail some more.

i never leave messages. even when i'm drunk i don't leave messages. i just listen and hang up as soon as it beeps. i think this relieves my mother a little bit. last thing you want is a child that leaves their ex lover drunk messages.

i know she's worried about me but i tell her i'm fine. this isn't her battle to fight and i don't want allies in this war. when i tell her not to worry she looks at me like a mother always looks at their child when they tell them they shouldn't worry. she tells me to stop calling you. i try to explain why i can't and she tries to explain the process of heartbreak and i'm angry because this isn't heartbreak. i'm not heartbroken, i'm just fucking broken. she doesn't get it. the older you get and the more secure you are in your marriage you forget what it felt like when the person you love more than anything leaves you and you have to teach yourself how to breathe and blink and eat again. i tell her this and she tries to take my phone. she tells me i have a problem and her nails scratch my skin. i am screaming and crying and clinging to my phone as if it were you and i am reminded of the night you left which only makes it worse. she gives up and tells me to leave. i run.

i go home and i call you twelve times. i don't expect an answer. i don't want one. but on the twelfth one, you pick up. you tell me to leave you alone. that you're going to change your number if i don't stop. that you don't love me anymore, and it's been six months so i should get the fuck over it and move on already. i act like it's your voicemail and don't say anything. i just listen. you hang up and i sit there and stare for an hour. i stare at the phone in my hands.

and i call again.

-c.h.