I knew it was a stupid idea as soon as I suggested it. The fact that she let me go through with it is a testament to how bad of a friend she is. Now I'm miserable, and it's my fault.
I called him, from my friends phone. He was confused at first, about who he was talking to. He didn't recognize my voice. In all fairness, he sounded different, too, so it was probably our phones. And god, I wanted so badly to hear his voice.
I wish it had been in person. To do his voice justice. But that would have been even worse.
I shouldn't have texted him afterwards either. There's a reason he had me blocked. God, now I sound like a crazy ex-girlfriend. Jesus, I probably am.
The best way to understand it is to compare him to a drug. A goddamn addictive drug. The kind friends should keep you from and warn you about. And I was four or so months sober. I'd tried to go back, but had been stopped. And then, for five minutes and thirty-two seconds, I was using again. And his voice was addicting.
There's no way to describe the difference between in his voice in person and his voice on the phone. Obviously, everyone knows there's a difference but when it's him, it's worse. His voice in person is smooth, almost lilting, but when he's close and he whispers in your ear, it's husky and a little rough. Like caramel and ice.
On the phone, it's distant. Too quiet to hear the perfect notes.
It's been almost three hours since that call and already the memory has lost its crispness. I can't find the perfect words to describe his voice because I can't hear it perfectly anymore. I wish that I could...
Our conversation after the call was... stunted. There were these moments when it felt like we could fall into our old rhythm of back and forth, but then the record would skip and remind us that this isn't our song anymore. I honestly don't think he ever forgot that it wasn't the song he should be playing, it was me who, for a second, thought I remembered the notes. I shouldn't have tried to play the song again.
He reminded me, around midnight that there was a reason we hadn't spoken. That there was a reason we couldn't do it again.
I wish we could forget about reasons and sensibility and just be us again.
But it doesn't work like that.
I wish it did.
Addicts always try to rationalize their addiction. Just like I am now. I guess, I just had a relapse. Back into rehab I go. This time, I'll try to make it stick. This time, I'll cry less.
Remind me not to text you again. It just makes it worse. xxx
