The second time, I noticed that the line she had removed was the only one asking someone to wait.
I took out the earbuds.
There were no new messages.
She had not asked whether I had listened.
She had not sent an explanation before I could form my own.
I opened our conversation.
Me:I listened.
The typing indicator appeared instantly.
Then vanished.
A full minute passed.
Annie:Okay.
Nothing else.
I looked toward the dark water.
Me:Why did you send it?
Her reply took longer.
Annie:I wrote it after our call. You are part of why it exists.
Another message arrived.
Annie:Hiding it from you felt too close to the old problem.
I read that twice.
Me:Sending it could also be pressure.
Annie:Yes.
No argument.
No explanation of my own feelings offered back to me.
Annie:That is why I asked. I still may have made the wrong choice.
I thought about the unfinished chorus.
About the line she had removed.
Me:I don’t know what you expect me to do with it.
Annie:Nothing.
The answer was quick, but not careless.
Annie:Delete it. Keep it. Tell me it’s terrible. Never mention it again.
