Very much just another blog

The phone filter

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In the middle of liquor-fuelled nights I would call the person I shouldn’t have called; I’d send texts and tweet. My friend said he could help me and I should send all those tweets and all those texts to him. I could put a code word at the start of the missive and this way he would know which ones not to read.

It was kind of him to offer that, I thought, and I sent the messages to his number. The words slipped from my fingers and travelled through the ether as though into a black hole that could swallow up all the drunken hurt I could write into it. Each message was wild and pained, uninhibited and chaotic, hurtling towards its empty destination. I would feel better for a little while when I loaded a text and pressed the trigger. My friend never said a word about them.

The messages didn’t last forever and the sorrow dulled and left. I bought my friend a gift to say thank you for the way he had helped me. He cooked me supper and we drank the posh wine I had brought. I told him, when we had eaten, that I had met someone new and fallen in love. When he went to the kitchen to make coffee I heard him start to cry.


Written by elikafm

March 10, 2010 at 11:25 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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