My phone rings, it's 2:38 in the morning if I had to guess, and my screen says your nickname on it. Before answering it, which I knew that I would, I thought about your attempt earlier to contact me, and how you were calling because you wouldn't allow me to ignore you. Austin is awake in the living room, so I walk quickly to the room as I answer. It felt bright, and I turned off the lights before lying on the floor, on my stomach, between the bed and the wall. I answer, determine where you are from your voice, and let mine come out cool and collected. You began to sound a little desperate, taking control of the conversation, which is something you rarely do, and I never mind. You're asking me questions, and I remember sort of thinking that you should get to the point. Eventually you spit it out, ask me when I am planning on going to LA. I was equally curious as to why you cared and it was LA, as to how you could ever know such a thing. I stuttered a bit, but told you candidly that I was not sure what my plan was. I admitted to you that I had set up a gig to perform my poetry there, not even certain you knew that I wrote. You were surprised by me saying that, so I told you it was weird, and that I wasn't going to follow through (but it was important to me that I told you). I had to tell you that I did not wish to be talking on the phone with you, although of course I did like it very much. Your voice seemed to heighten the essence of life; I was conscious that the notion of purpose would linger, even with the pain, I was grateful for that. I did not believe you would care much if you heard it, so I spoke that I had still been endeavoring seriously to avoid you. It took me completely off guard, but you inquired why. I responded slowly, but said that I just wanted to live, go on living my life, not run or inspired by anyone else, eluding to you fairly obviously. You found this aggravating, that I would try such a thing. You heard me giving up, and it felt a different sort of awful to us both. Passionate and sincere, you ask, "Why did you call me?" I realized you meant a few weeks or months back, I did call you. I paused momentarily, then replied truthfully again. I explained to you that I was compelled, very much compelled to call, and I try not to stifle those feelings or instincts. I noticed that I used the word compelled twice like that, then asked if you had ever been so driven by an idea that you absolutely felt you had no decision but to do so. You were quiet, but suggested you knew, and I figured it was with me, too, perhaps even this very phone call.
You told me that you loved me very much, and I was a little sad that it did not resonate, even knowing it was by choice that it did not.
You said you would see me in February, and the most telling facet of the dream was that I thought that I would not be ready.
(Later I read a message you sent, something in response to heads and asses, and you wanted to let me know that you go both ways. I was angered, and wanted you to stop half-telling me that you are in love with me.)
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