Life – a suicide note? II

Dear …,

I called you but you didn’t pick up the phone. I called you again but you said you were busy. When I called you a third time we spoke about your problems. You hung up because someone behind you called your name and you said it was something urgent. I let go of the line. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to so I waited near the telephone in case you called. But the phone did not ring and the brutish and savage conspiracy that the universe had brewed specifically for me, suddenly spilled over my entire body and I walked away with heavy steps. My hopes refused to part ways with the telephone and reluctantly I carried my despondent body around town looking for a familiar face or expecting to hear a friendly voice call out my name but as I said, the universe had conspired against me in the most inhuman manner. I was all alone. I don’t know when but I got drunk. I even popped a few pills I found in my coat pocket. Soon my nonexistent body was floating on the face of this Earth like a ghost. Images went past me in a blur. I tried to make some meaning out of them but things like reason and meaning had long since abandoned me. The only assurance I got which told me I wasn’t insane was from the telephone booth. While the whole world felt like drops of ink in turbulent water, the telephone booth stood rock steady. The lonely box waited in the middle of the street like an expectant lover who has been stood up by her true love for the very first time. I felt sad for her and approached with discreet steps. The telephone, a black piece of art, lying there in solitude with no one to wrap their warm arms and comfort it in this terrible city. I felt sad. I felt so very sad that I sat near it and cried. I did not cry about anything in particular. I just cried because I wanted to. And I saw the shadows as they flew past me, never stopping, never comforting.

The evening sun slowly melted away into the mélange of different colors. As the sky painted out a picture of retreat on the canvas of our continually changing lives, I decided to give you a call. The phone rang once, twice, thrice and then you picked it up. But no it wasn’t you. The voice on the other end of the line was funny. I broke into hysterical laughter. Man it hurt! Yes, it hurt a lot. When I left the booth, the sky was black or was it my life? The moon hung its sad face in the sky, displaying the sadness it kept locked away in its heart while poets and lovers danced and romanced the night away. I headed home or wherever I ended up spending the night in this misty planet. I had time to kill till tomorrow morning when once again we would reunite over the phone, so I’ll rest my body for a while – my tired, fragile little body. And by the way if I don’t call you tomorrow, please come over to my place or wherever I am and you will find this letter beside the telephone. I might still be asleep so don’t wake me up. When I wake up I’ll call you.

Goodbye.

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