Your number was unfamiliar to me the first time it popped on my phone. It wasn't a hello, or a good morning that I saw. Instead, you asked about the music that brings me to sleep. That was the first night I slept before the break of dawn.
The next time your texts came through my phone, your name would be sprawled across my screen, an endearment you never knew I had. For weeks we talked about the galaxies, and the oceans, and the books that changed our lives. We shared our playlists and talked about the ones that saved us. And I let you completely know even my worst sides. But in time, we started to drift apart.
I wrote poems, and stories, and music from texts I failed to send to you. I wrote my what-ifs and apologies, and every other song I would want you to hear. And I held every word with me, afraid you'd know how I felt about you.
Sometimes I would reread and relive every word and every paragraph we have sent. Because this was the last time I ever spilled my soul to anyone else. I'm sorry. I miss you. I love you. But most of all, thank you. I reread, retype, and delete these words over and over and never hit send. I don't know your number, I only remember your name. And I already changed my number twice since the last time we met.
DU LIEST GERADE
Trinkets
PoesieIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
