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she is.

12:22 am - Friday, January 9

she told me last night, over a twisted configuration of cables, her voice soft, as to not wake her sleeping parents " i know i still love him " and i believe her because she doesn't lie. she loves like she loves the sun, maybe even more, she would trade the stars for him. she loves his arms, his lips, his heart.

every week, maybe twice, she calls me, always at the most bizzare times of the night. she does most of the talking, though somewhwere in the middle she'll tell me i'm a good listener, and i'll thank her for the compliment. sometimes this is the only occasion in which i speak, except for hello and goodnight. when i'm talking to her, lying in the warmth of my blankets, my breathing will even out, but she'll never ask if i'm awake, i'll always be awake while it's her on the phone.

this time she tells me of a boy. not the boy i usually hear about. this boy is a new addition to her crazy rollercoaster of a life. he came in subtly , she says, she didn't notice him enter but he did and they seemed to instantly connect. "on every level" she said, voice husky from the hour. she tells me about his eyes and how they connect so well with hers, his hair, his maturity, his willingness to help, his humour, his voice. she said, i heard. she asks me, her voice softer than it was perviously, she whispers , " is it possible, for a girl, to be in love , two times over, at the same time? "

i stop breathing for a second because, i don't know, how would i know, yes ? apparently, yes. she says she loves being with him, she loves being with him. too. she likes talking to the boy, hours on end, she loves the way he talks to her, but she misses him. "is it wrong ?" she asks " to want to kiss him ? " i don't know. tell me. i don't know. she wants to know, is it normal for her to want to hold his hand. i shake my head but say nothing, becuase i still don't know, no.

she is in a state of how. " what if it's just me. maybe it's just me. maybe i just miss him." i have nothing to say so i don't. she sounds like she needs a lifeboat but my words are no saviour. i wish i could step into her shoes, and lay her to sleep for a while, while i fix things for her. mend her life and scotchtape it so the pieces are at least attatched to each other in one way or another.

just as the sun rises, i hear her stop talking. after a moment she tells me that she should go to bed and i tell her the same. she should go to bed, she needs to rest. she'll kill me for writing this blog; i'll kill me for writing this blog. i put down the phone, after we've said our goodbyes and i think for a few minutes. and i know.

she is in love twice over. at the same time.

victorchewy