Sunday, 24 August 2014

Taxi, Please

It’s when the one person you wanted to call doesn’t pick up. You’re greeted with “Leave a message,” Instead of the familiar, “Hey, what’s up?”

To hear love at the other end. That was all you wanted. A punch of encouragement. A gentle reminder that none of it really matters and you can breathe easy again.

But you didn’t get that. You got a long beep and monotone voice. You got a punch in the gut when you’re already hurting. It does matter and you can’t breathe easy.

Now you scroll through your contacts with a shaky right hand, knowing you don’t have anyone else. No back up or second in command. The burnt out cigarette in your left sparks a fire that makes you realise the taxi driver will be your only friend tonight.

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