January 19th, Year 20

We are torn apart from one another; I am torn apart from myself. Disconnected and obliterated.

I dial and say nothing. A ghost, like I have said. Numbers that are familiar now, and wish would remain forever in my memory. His voice, deep and hoarse, saying nothing of significance. It will no longer say kind things to me, neither will it say unkind things. The waters are still, and it is sick to admit such a thing, but I look for a familiar tsunami.

My phone rings often. No one on the other end. We are similar that way.

My teeth are beginning to ache. They hung on to the lies for too long, I suppose. The discomfort travels to my jaw. This robs me of my concentration. It is becoming a constant. Pray for a companion, and your wish will be granted. It isn’t as if I am not used to pain.

January 19th, Year 20

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