Unwritten Shadows of a Clouded Mind

Unfading Shadows

The phone rings, shattering the quiet of my room, a sound that feels out of place in the silence I've grown used to. I glance at the screen, expecting a name that doesn't matter, maybe work related call, or family, or a friend reaching out with a casual text. But it's you. Your name glows in the dim light, a name I thought I'd never see again on my phone. My breath catches, a sharp intake of air that feels like a knife slicing through the stillness.

For a moment, I just stare, my mind racing. Why now? Why after all this time of silence, of absence, of pretending like we were never part of each other's lives? My finger hovers over the screen, hesitation pulling me in two directions. But before I can think it through, before I can stop myself, I answer.

"Hey," your voice is the same as I remember, a familiar tone that sends a shiver down my spine. It's casual, as if nothing has changed, as if you hadn't cut me off like a loose thread in your life. There's a warmth in your voice that feels like a slap in the face because, to you, everything's fine, isn't it? You've moved on, found someone else, left me in the past. And yet, here you are, calling me, as if we're still what we once were.

I don't respond. I don't trust my voice to be steady, don't trust myself to keep the emotion out of it. Instead, I let the silence stretch out, just looking at your drunken face on the screen, letting you fill the void with your words. You start talking about your day, about how you went drinking with friends, how you prepared the drink for them and how they liked it.

I listen. I listen to every word, every detail, and all the while, a part of me is screaming, wanting to ask why. Why are you calling me now? Why do you sound so happy to talk to me again? Why are you acting like nothing happened, like you didn't leave me here with a gaping wound where our connection used to be? But I don't say any of that. I just listen, letting your words wash over me like the tide.

You don't mention her. Not once. It's as if she doesn't exist in this story you're telling, this life you're painting for me. It feels intentional, like you're trying to erase the reality I know, to rewrite the narrative into something simpler, something that doesn't include the heartbreak you caused. But I can still see the cracks beneath your words, the places where the truth peeks through, sharp and unforgiving.

I want to ask if she was there with you, if she laughed with you, if she held your hand while you watched the sunset. I want to know why you're calling me instead of talking to her, why you're pretending like you care about me now when you didn't care enough to stay. But I keep my mouth shut, biting down on my tongue until I taste blood. Because I know that asking those questions won't lead anywhere good. I know that hearing your answers won't bring me any peace.

So, I just listen. You talk and talk, your voice filling the emptiness between us, and I wonder if you notice how quiet I am, if you can hear the silence of my end of the line, the lack of response. Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Maybe you're just happy to have someone to listen to you, someone to unload your day onto. Maybe you don't even care if I'm really there, as long as there's a voice on the other side of the call.

My heart is pounding, each beat a painful reminder of what I'm feeling, what I'm holding back. I want to yell, to scream at you for doing this, for calling me after all this time, for pretending like everything is okay. But I know that it wouldn't change anything. I know that it would just push you further away, that it would make you hang up and disappear again, and for some twisted reason, I can't bear the thought of that. I can't bear the thought of losing you, even when I know I already have.

So, I let you ramble on, let you tell me about your fun day out, about the jokes you shared, the drinks you had, the little things. I hold the phone camera facing me, my hand starting to ache from the grip I have on it, and I just listen. I listen because it's easier than talking, easier than showing you the cracks in my façade, easier than admitting that I'm still hurting.

Because in this era, I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to pretend like everything's fine. I'm tired of rebuilding connections that only seem to crumble. I'm tired of giving you pieces of myself when you've already given yours to someone else. I don't want you to see through me. I don't want you to know that I still care, that I still ache, that your voice still has the power to break me.

And maybe that's why you're calling, isn't it? Maybe you need to know that I'm still here, that I haven't moved on, that I'm still the safe place you can run to when things get complicated. But I won't give you that satisfaction. I won't let you know that I'm still tangled up in you, that every word you speak is another thread tightening around my heart. I won't let you know that I still want to be part of your story, even when it hurts.

Eventually, you stop talking. There's a pause, a silence that stretches out between us, and I can feel the weight of it pressing down. I don't know what you expect me to say. I don't know if you want me to laugh, to comment, to ask you about your life. But I don't. I just keep holding the phone, my lips pressed tightly together, my heart beating in my chest like a drum.

The call needs to end now. My throat is tight, my hands trembling. I want to say something, anything, to break the tension, to fill the silence with words that don't mean anything. But I can't. I don't trust myself to speak, don't trust myself to keep the pain out of my voice.

And then you say goodbye. Just like that, the call is over, the line goes dead, and I'm left staring at the screen, at your name that's now nothing more than a reminder of what we used to be. My hand drops to my side, the phone slipping from my fingers, and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

Why did you call? Why did you reach out just to remind me of what I've lost, of what I can never have? I want to scream, to throw something, to release the frustration building inside me. But I don't. I just sit here, feeling the weight of your absence all over again, the hollow ache in my chest that never really goes away.

I wish I could be angry. I wish I could hate you. But I can't. All I feel is this emptiness, this tiredness that goes bone-deep. I don't want to go through this again. I don't want to rebuild what you broke, just for you to tear it down once more. So, I let the tears fall, silent and unnoticed, and I promise myself that this time, I won't let you back in. This time, I'll keep my distance. This time, I'll protect myself from the hurt.

Because in this era, I've learned that some wounds never heal, and some loves are never meant to be.