Page 32 - Demo

disconnected
Amanda Alvarado
BEEEEEP.
“Hey, it’s me. The person you’re trying to forget again.”
Sigh. You know my game well enough. How many times I have tried to forget you... Maybe it’s my fault that you know. I tell you all the time. ... I only tell you when I have failed at trying to forget.
“How are you?”
I take a drag from the cigarette in my hand. I have con icting feelings. The papers are all tossed around the oor like a half-assed attempt at cheap carpeting. Most of these papers say “I love you” without actually saying it. Some of these papers don’t know you. But I can never bring myself to hate you. I release the smoke drowning my lungs. Smoking’s a new habit I picked up; it wasn’t there when you were around.
“I hope you’re doing alright.”
I can’t focus. The smoking doesn’t help anymore. I’m a hypocrite—empty bottles line my kitchen win- dowsill. But it doesn’t stop me. I almost can’t keep myself together with it. I wouldn’t know how to cope without it.
My hair’s a mess. The room’s dark. Clothes are
in piles on the oor. My life has become almost like a hibernation, an emotional hibernation. I want to keep these feelings asleep for a long time. Forever.
That’s probably not true.
“I’m always so busy, but I always want to know what you’re up to.”
You remain nameless so I can stop attaching your name to your face. It doesn’t work. I see the time we stayed up all night, just talking, reading to each other—
29