This phone is persistently quiet; so dogmatically silent. He'd even checked it was plugged in (it was). He now had to face up to the fact that his desire to hear from her in no way matched her desire to speak to him. He had tried hard to ignore this hurtful truth.
He'd played the 'this phone will ring before I count to ten' game and if he had extended this folly sequentially he would have been counting now for going on three days.
She must have really meant it when she said it was over between them and the rest was just him clutching at straws. Amazing the flimsy, deluded fancies one clings to when one is desperate.
Only she could quell the panic of his pain. Only she could say 'it's OK, we're fine. I love you, let's continue' And yet, deep down he knew he was never going to hear those words from her.
He drifts off into a drunken sleep.
The phone still silent in the quiet night.
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