Sixteen days and counting

The mornings are the most difficult. When I am at that moment between sleep and wake; when I am still in that dreamlike state. And then reality sets in. He hasn’t called in over three weeks. He is not going to call now because his pride is most important to him.

Oh how the time flew. The good and the bad alike. The thoughts just strolling through my head, sometimes running. The only reason why there are so many memories is because after every argument I picked up the phone.

Because my pride didn’t matter. I had none when it came to him. After all, there is no pride in love - no shame and no ego. At least not on my part.

But now I know, if I hadn’t picked up the phone so many times before, three months it would have been instead of three years.

Three years of my life I will never get back, more scars on an already scarred soul. Many hopes crushed, dreams unfulfilled. Many empty I love yous. Manipulative soul.

Ah psychic is this the happy time you saw for me this month.

How disappointing. No “I’m sorry your dad is not here” on father’s day, sixteen days and counting. As each day goes by I am less and less important. And soon I become a distance memory, nothingness.