“Found an old file.”
brooklyn listened carefully, almost possessively, to the song that cris sent her until she realized an hour had passed with her pressing play repeatedly. it ignited something inside of her; something that scared her because she suddenly wanted to hold onto cris and never let go, and she wanted cris to stay. she slid out her cell phone, pressing the call button by cris’ contact name and luckily, it went to voicemail. a pause. a breath, shaky and emotional. and then she started.
“hey, uh– i just listened to what you sent me and… fuck, usually i’m so good with this – with talking. okay, fuck you for making me feel like this. but, um, i don’t know why you sent me that. it just reminded me of what we used to be and that you left all of that behind. yeah, you did it to protect me, i know, but it was still shitty. and i’m remembering when i dragged you out to central park and we laid out a blanket and i told you to bring me a book i’ve never read before but instead i ended up just laying in your lap and making you read to me because – your voice was, is, such a simple pleasure and now i have that back and i don’t know what to do with it. so tell me what you want to do. that’s it, just– tell me what you want to do. call me back, i guess. bye, cris.”
