via Daily Prompt: Distant
Sitting in front of a future former friend,
watching her read several dire text messages
she feels she must read lest her life ends before the setting sun,
suddenly less depressed, less stressed after dumping her troubles
in your lap that equals the weight of the emotional baggage you already carry.
Stuck in that strange limbo of patience and nakedness,
waiting for the moment she looks up to acknowledges you exist,
but feeling isolated when she says, “it won’t take long”
before returning to a conversation she seems exponentially more interested in.
Anxiety grabs hold and you wonder if she even wants to be there with you,
or if she is making plans to spend time with them and how long it will take
after her phone call before she creates some transparent excuse to go.
Your intuition magnifies the fear as she finally hangs up and you can
already see the epilogue in her eyes that carry that translucent excuse
you know too well and have heard too many times before.
You sit there, feeling the way you always feel after these one-sided exchanges.
Used. Raw. Exposed.
Like some carcass split open by the front end of a Toyota truck
and left to lay open and bleeding in the Texas heat.
I had as much to say
I had as much to cry, scream, complain and rant about.
In that moment I needed you too.
But the annoying chime on your phone seems to cast some technological spell
that keeps you enamored and unaware that your so-called friend is drowning
in sorrow that an open ear could assuage.
If only for a while.