Pick it up.
I’m not going to text him.
I’m not going to be that person.
I’m not going to text him.
I text him.
Saw your photo. Looks fun. Miss you.
He reads it.
Doesn’t respond.
I take another pill.
Eventually the ceiling stops being so loud.
• • •
He calls the next afternoon like nothing happened. His voice filling the room the way it always does.
And I answer.
Of course I answer.
He sounds like himself and I let it carry me and we talk for an hour and when we hang up I feel okay.
Better than okay.
I feel like I made it bigger than it was.
I feel like an idiot for the texts.
For the photo.
For the ceiling at 2am.
I’m fine.
We’re fine.
• • •
December.
I go home.
And he’s there.
He’s so there.
Like the last three months didn’t happen.
Like he pulled himself all the way back just to show me — see, I’m here, I’m always here, stop worrying —
And I believe it.
