:: Wednesday, August 24, 2005 ::

a boy flew out of the country yesterday. the boy that kept me company last winter and spring. at the airport, before he took off, he gave me his telephone.

"it won't work where I'm going," he said.

i used to send text messages to that phone when i was lonely or sad or bored. it was like in movies, when kids blink flashlights at each other's bedroom windows to let them know they're there and paying attention. i'd send a word or two, and in a few minutes my own phone would blink and beep. a flashlight in a quiet night.

now the phone is sitting on my dresser. if i turned it on and phoned it, the ring would cut through the silence of my room.

he's still alive and well, but it's still another number to delete from my phone book. last time i wrote about this, some people said they left the numbers there for a while, so they wouldn't have to face it. i thought i understood that at the time, but this phone on my dresser is making it startlingly clear.

I think I would prefer to pretend it was still out there, in his pocket, somewhere.


~song~ Coldplay - The Scientist

:: Katy 10:34 p.m. [+] :: ::