2 am.
You called.
I picked up.
You said this was our last call.
I didn't say anything.
Yet at the same time I resisted the urge to break into tears of agonizing pain in front of you.
You said, "move on."
What struck me was how easily you made it seem. How easy you thought everything was for me. Your assumptions, they were beyond repair. The first few minutes, the world around me stopped, the clock stopped ticking, objects became stationary.
What was everything, was now nothing.
And it struck me, hit me so hard.
All at once. That you were not mine to worry about anymore, not mine to be happy with anymore, not mine to cry over anymore; not mine, anymore.
How could I move on from all these things?
In that 2 minutes of silence, there were innumerable thoughts running around my head, trying to get freedom, trying to escape from my mouth in the form of words.
But your words kept ringing in my ears.
And as you cut the phone, a silent whisper escaped through the narrow path between my lips, "How?"
