Closure

stream-of-consciousness 03.03.03

the last time we talked was on my birthday. i stepped right out of the carenderia where i was having supper with friends to answer your call (i didn’t want them to hear me speak the second language only a bunch of my kind could dread and unknowingly despise). you asked what i have been doing lately. i have not had anything to do at all these past few days, so how was i to know how to answer you? i’ve been reading, i said, which was partly true because i’ve been stuck with this really thick book written by ayn rand for weeks. i didn’t mention that what eats most of my time is my literally and figuratively staring at blank space, which has weighed on me like a pillow in my face, making it hard for me to breathe. i braced myself for that sudden jolt to flight i was used to feeling each time i speak with you, as though the cellphone network has that loose a traffic so as to have me fly over the distance from here to where you are and be in physical contact with you. but that didn’t happen. my sentences were lifeless, consisting of but one word that, before, would have meant panic on my part because it was you that i was conversing with, and that i was not worthy. but i only felt indifference that day, a sudden disinterest i couldn’t blame myself for. you have crushed my heart a lot more times and in a lot more ways than i should’ve allowed it. when we hung up i heaved a sigh of relief that i swear to god was accompanied by a powerful pull of the earth on my heart. that instant i felt i could explain how gravity was discovered. yet i missed to note a more important detail: that i was also being forewarned that a few days after that i was to acquire the courage never to answer any of your calls again. i didn’t tremble when I went back inside the carenderia. but i did find it difficult to finish my meal, and i masked it by talking with untoward gaiety which i hoped that my friends didn’t notice that it was my way of convincing myself that I will be okay.