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The phone call
There I was in my apartment. And there you were, with me, lights off, tv on a static channel. You laid on my chest, safe in my embrace. I admired your black hair cascading down your back and on my ribs. The phone rang, but we kept still until it faded away. With your black eyes and head turned, you looked at the nothing in front of you. My pale fingers caressed your arm, your midnight skin lacking any sensation. The whispers of the static were overpowered by your wall of silence. You weren't dead, but it wouldn't have made any difference. Your cold breath condensed the air, making small dew drops form on the couch and the ceiling. Mine evaporated them and danced with yours in the quiet atmosphere. The phone rang again hammering my ears, but soon the lack of noise in the room took over, like a retreating wave in the ocean night. I wasn't sure how much time passed in that perpetual moment, but I didn't care either. We killed time a while ago. A single thought crossed my mind and it banged against my skull, reapeting itself over and over without loosing momentum or meaning. This is all I want. The phone rang once more, but this time you stood up.
I watched you walk patiently, balancing your arms at your sides with grace, turning your back on me, the phone ringing urgently. In a blink you were already besides the red phone and you picked it up, silence covering us yet again, and listened. I waited and waited, until you finally spoke up. "It's for you" she said. I already knew who it was, but still I asked "Who's calling?" You said "Reality" and vanished with the rest of the shadows
