Things (un)said in a Glitch

Telephone rings

Hello?

(static) your voice is the old bottle of wine that burns down my throat and i bite the dust in my dreams till i wake up unhinged with the wine stains on my shirt spelling out your name

Hel-

my hydrangeas have all wilted and conflated with the mud that smears my threshold and the hyacinths that you left that day on my upholstery the last time i ever saw your face haven’t fluttered ever since and i discern your ghost that disfigures my mind into stones apiece till all i can do is sit and watch the flowers wither away with time

I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I’m afraid I didn’t catch you.

give me a minute for my blood has congealed with the pining that gnaws at my wrinkled skin

(indistinct murmur)

had the sky lost all of its shine one day, the hues that would besprinkle the vast canvas you’d claim your own when you’d stand on rooftops with your hands stretched out begging the unscathed glimmer to return will simmer against my skin and i would betray every healing wound just to see you smile.

had thursday afternoons felt like all your fears peeking in through your windows while you lay in your bed as lifeless as the pencil over the poem you left unfinished and the ceiling fan would creek every second till the only sound you’ll hear when a whisper of love brushes against your ears is the perennial screech of your fears but i would brave every bullet of the scorching rays and bleed myself dry till i efface your dread and see you survive.

had the four walls of your home crushed you into bits and throttled every piece of life out of you and you would scream and rage in blaring silence i would let the storm clouding around you shatter me instead because for you i would leave every form of peace untouched just so you can peel off your silence and speak in unbridled glory.

Hello? Hey, could you perhaps try calling again? I believe the connection’s glitching at your end.

i ache for you like the little girl that treads on at the turnstile alongside the shadow that is not her own and i will love you till she morphs into that smoky silhouette. goodbye, love.

Wait, hold on-

[beep]

{loud static}

[beep]

You have a voicemail

~ Riddhi Chakraborty

Notes: what reading macabre stories and poems lately has done to me.