The Nile is a River in Egypt

I called you today. I just couldn’t resist. We haven’t said a single word to each other just for each other for two, maybe even three months. The only way we’ve been able to talk of late is through posting to a particular mailing list, but I don’t think that really counts for personal correspondence. At any rate, I couldn’t resist not calling you today.

After all, I do owe you a story, and you owe me a story.

It’s hard this, acting as if I’m not desperately in love with you, playing this game of pretend. I can’t call you as much as I want, or ask you how the day goes, or simply just wish you well. Every now and then I find myself calling you, dialing the numbers but stopping a digit short, paralyzed by fear. I hold the phone to my ear, content to wait in silence.

Anyway, here’s my story: since we last talked, I haven’t been able to sleep well, mostly because of you. You keep me awake nights. Sooner or later your voice comes to me while I lie on my bed, talking to me about everything and nothing, asking me about my day, making me feel better, an imaginary friend/lover/everything. I talk to it every night we don’t talk to each other, and sometimes long after you’ve put down the phone.

I seriously doubt you’ll believe that, so I won’t tell it to you. Instead, I’ll use my brain to invent a life I’ve never actually had, or one that I normally would have had were I not thinking of you, a life I used to have before I met you. Ask me again and again I’ll lie to you. I lie because you’ll feel better not knowing the truth. I just know you will.

It’s always easier to believe the lie than to accept the truth.


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