call → f o u r

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Bittersweet → call  f o u r  

❝In which he loves her flaws more than her perfections.❞

On Tuesday I called you.

You didn't pick up.

I started to worry, because you always pick up.

After hestitating for an hour and calling myself a wimp, I went to your house.

I ringed the doorbell six times, but you didn't open the door.

I forced myself to stop imagining all kind of things that could've happened.

I failed.

On Wednesday I called you again.

You didn't pick up.

I decided to leave you a voicemail, having the false hope you would call me back.

'Hey,' I said.

I punched myself because that sounded stupid.

'Where are you? I'm starting to get worried a bit,' I said.

Because even though you call me a liar, I always tell you the truth.

'Don't do stupid things,' I said.

Because I knew you would.

I love the stupid things you do, but I hate how you always come worse out of it.

'I need you to know that I miss you. And that I need you. More than anything,' I said.

I punched myself again because I sounded like a wimp.

'Sorry, that was stupid, forget that,' I said.

I punched myself because I am a wimp.

I hung up, because I know you wouldn't listen to me anymore.

Today I still miss you.

I miss you more than yesterday.

And I miss you more than last week.

I miss you more than ever, and I need you more than ever.

I called myself a wimp and then punched myself again.

It felt good.

I love the silent treathment you give me when you did something wrong, but I hate how good you are at it.

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