I feel so sorry for myself. So sorry for not feeling anything but nullified pain that I didn't think which is which that feeling belongs to.
I feel so sorry for myself to the point I'd laugh at myself because of not feeling this certain emotion I wanted to feel.
But when I hear your voice over the phone, I hold my cries and breath, hoping you wouldn't know who I was. Hoping you wouldn't block my number because there was nothing you could hear on my side.
I called once again, and this time, you didn't say anything back for a few minutes. And I was contented with it. Contented that you didn't end it, contented that you didn't block my number, contented that you were still awake at this hour.
I wanted to talk to you so much, but I knew I couldn't. Because I knew, you were happy. Well, at least that's what I think. But I hope you are.
I was about to speak to you. But then I'm afraid that when I do, you would know, and you would block my number, and that I wouldn't be able to call you again. And I end up not speaking to you. Because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to hear your voice again.
It was worth a shot the third time. I said what I wanted to say, those three simple words. But I was just too late to say it; you had ended the call to soon.
And I know, that this time, you wouldn't answer it anymore.