(fiction)

"Please stay," I said softly, the phone forcefully pushed to my ear; leaving a mark on my cheek. My fingers gripped on to my phone so tightly the edge of my nails were white.

I listened to the heavy breathing of the man I used to be so familiar with.

Now we have awkward silences instead of giggles, a space between us instead of our hands being linked. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he finally responded. "It's not working out anymore."

At that very moment, I felt weak. Drained. 

I wish I could see his face and read his emotions. Is he happy about this? Or did he tear as he said that?
But I know one thing for sure: He's given up on me. Completely given up on me.

---

None of that happened of course. I just miss writing my own lame sappy stories.
Hope that doesn't happen to me any soon.

Goodnight.

x