Blue grey days

I’m a lot like the weather here in Austin today, a little grey mixed with a hint of blue. On my lunch break I listened to Eclecticos play Chopin and drove around the city.

Late last night my phone rang, and it was exactly the person I wanted it to be. I stopped myself before I answered. I lay in bed and watched my phone light up over and over, call after call. I knew it would hurt to hear his voice. I knew he was drunk since it was late, so I pulled the covers over my head and tried not to cry.

I picked up my voice mail a couple of minutes later. I listened to the messages over and over again since he was telling me he loves me and misses me. But I know. I know that some things just don’t work, even if you want them to. I know the line between love and hate is marred with expectations and disappointment. I know the days of rolling around with him in bed for hours, riding bikes, and long talks in the bathtub are gone. I know that I only see glimpses of who he is now that he’s gone.

So I miss him. I try to avoid him. I try to not listen to those songs or go to those bars. I try to remember all the bad times. I try not to remember us laughing and telling stories in the morning sunshine, the flowers he’d give me on bad days, and the way he tucks my hair behind my ears. I forget the way he looks at me and how he loves the way I look driving his truck.

I lay there, and I try to forget.

I hear Miss K telling me, “It’s not that he doesn’t care about you. He does. He just doesn’t care enough.”

And it gets darker, and I finally fall asleep.

The next day starts, and I spend the morning trying to forget. Trying to avoid something that’s not a threat in my life. I promise myself I won’t call him back; I won’t pick up the phone, or answer another email.

Then my office line rings, I pick it up without looking and am shocked to hear his voice. I look down and cover my eyes.


“What’s up, baby? Talk to me. I miss you. Tell me what I can do.”