Z (expired?)

The Pisces in me strikes anew. I've been staring at a couple of unpublished blogs not quite sure what to do with them. I am just in awe how fast words can stale. Anyhow, for whatever it is worth, ponder on this...

Z
540/ 08/07

With sweaty palms and purple toes, I was waiting anxiously. Every time my phone beeps, I secretly wished it was you on the other end. But it was never you today as I sulked in disappointment when someone else leaves a message on my machine.

While waiting, I saw a black Persian cat pass by the dimly-lighted hallway and thought, “That looks so familiar.” Well, it should be familiar as it already happened before. Actually, it happens quite often, too often.

I’ve waited and waited for people who never really came. It was like being teased with a mouth-watering chocolate bar just to have it taken away after a sniff. The feeling is the same; the faces and names are the only ones that change.

I’ve gotten used to that feeling of wanting to lift the phone to call someone but hesitating at the last minute. That urge of dialing a number and listening to a voice but hanging up nervously after a second or so (burn whoever invented caller ID).

Indeed, I've been accused of over analyzing things, and yes, until now, I still have monsters under my bed which makes it hard to put my feet back on the ground. Because this whisper of a thrill is so levitating, it makes it scarier to lose, that is if I still haven't lost it.

I could only sigh on the same irksome feeling of being somewhere, alone and waiting for someone who’s with someone else at that moment. But it really doesn't matter how unsettling the thought was. "Well, whoever you are who's holding the hands I quietly desire to hold, I am here, and I am now. You maybe the past, but I am the future."

If I could only have it my way, I would keep this the longest than most of those I have lost, and I would speak the words that I keep hidden under my pillow. Here it is, at the center of my gut, at the tip of tongue, words that I can't say like stay.

©Grace Ramos