On the other end of the phone

I thought I fell in love.
Maybe I did.
Or maybe it was the way his breath settled on the other end of the phone- scared, reassured, alone
The way he hid his insecurities neatly in the basement of his heart reminded me of myself.
Words became conversations, conversations into stories and stories into lessons learned
But have I learned?
Have I learned that a heart is like a newborn baby?
Always needing someone to nurture it tenderly, never quite ready to be hurt.
And his voice would settle like an ocean’s tide upon a shore- calmly and intentionally
I could feel and hear the neediness in his voice like the cries of a baby needing the tender touch of a parent
He was hurt, like me.
The way he hurts is like blades cracking across skin bleeding years of growing up too fast
And he knows it like the way a crack fiend finds escape in taking a hit
He’s as complicated as two lovers trying to find love in hotel rooms
But he is deeply bruised with a swollen heart and a trembling fear of being alone
He’s beautiful behind the pain that frequently creeps up upwardly unexpectantly in our conversations
And just like him and many others, I am the shattered mirror-image of pain and fear.
I am the hotel-room that holds secrets well like walls that will never speak.
I am the heart that yearns for love.
I was the one settled on the other end of the phone feeling scared, reassured and alone.

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