seventeen prose | daragon

[ sixth ]

《 December 30, 2016 》

he dialed the set of eleven digits he knew by heart, hoping, praying, wishing upon a star, that she would answer, that she'll know how he misses her

but she didn't.

he glared at the phone as tears stung his eyes. her voice greeted him. "hi! it's me. leave a message after the beep! i promise i'll call you back when i can. bye!"

he cleared his throat and let out a shaky breath. "hey. i just- did you know how much I love poetry, you asked me last time why and I'm here to tell you, I love poetry as much as I love you, cause you were like that, you were like a poem, I found it amazing on how every words fit to form something incredible, everything you do felt magic so I always write you in poems I-,"

a loud beep resonated around the empty room. damn it, he thought, before sobs raked his body and made him face the wall, he looked on the wall where their picture was hung.

he prayed again, that someday, she'll call him back, she'll be back. just like she promised under the devolving moonlight in his dreams.

but he knows she won't.

not now.

never again.

because no amount of voicemails, letters, tears, and prayers can bring back the dead.