The Evening haze has gently cuddled the city in its warm embrace. Tall lamp posts are shining brightly, spreading crystal clear light all over the street as if hundreds of miniature suns are hanged from the steel polls.
He pulls over and stops the car. The light flows through the windshield and lights the interior revealing his phone lying next to him. He looks at it for some time, his thoughts wandering thousands of miles away from that place. Suddenly, in one confident movement he picks it up and presses the compose a new message button. In a few seconds he types the message and after hesitating for a moment, presses the send button:
Soon the phone vibrates:
In an instant, after reading that one word, a wave of regret crushes him; he feels how stupid this spontaneous idea was. Chaotically he begins searching for an excuse, and maybe, if he had thought a bit more, he would come up with something better than:
- Sorry, I was thinking of you. Couldn't help it. Forget it. Sorry.
A few minutes later a reply arrives. He's still sitting in his car, with the engine turned off, nervously biting his fingers. Unsure what to do and how to react to whatever this message will bear within, his finger presses a button. He reads:
- Forget it? Sorry? You better make up your mind already. First you decide we don't speak anymore, and we agree that we're moving on, and after all this time you suddenly send me this because you 'couldn't help it'? Don't lie. Why would you do this?
His heart stops. Then beats. Then stops again. His heavy breath comes out of his mouth swirling in the cool air as he whispers the same last question to himself: "Why would I do this?"... Having spent what seemed like an eternity to him contemplating on that simple question, his fingers begin running over the keyboard, nervously hitting the buttons, typing everything that comes to his mind as an answer. Without thinking twice he writes every thought that is in his head, every fear he ever had, every doubt and regret he ever felt. He says:
- Because I'm afraid. I'm afraid. Afraid that I'm making the biggest mistake of my life by pushing you away from me, erasing you from my life. Afraid that before I'll have changed, have achieved something in this life it will be too late. Afraid that we'll never meet again, that we'll never speak again and most of all I'm afraid that I'll never love someone like I love you. Afraid that somebody else will become the mother of my children, that I will love them but never the way I would love YOU and OUR children. I don't want to do what is right and I don't want to make mistakes either. I don't want to spend the rest of my life without you, but at the same time I realise that before I'll be able to get to you, reach you, bring you back, it might be already too late; you will have met someone else, move in with him, perhaps even marry. And I will become a mere memory of just some guy back there whom you used to date and had a little affection for, but then again maybe that's exactly what I was...
After a few moments the phone buzzes and with his heart pounding in his chest he presses the *You Have 1 new message*...
The Evening haze had soaked up the city in its cold breath. Buzzing lamp posts, dirty and worn off, spitting bleak yellowish shadows on pavements, stood on the sides of the road pretending to light the street.
He pulled over and stopped the car near one of those. The light like a yolk lazily hung over the dashboard revealing his phone lying in a pile of 'stuff'. He looked at it for some time, his thoughts wandering thousands of miles away from that place. Hesitating, he picked up the phone, navigated through the menu and pressed the compose a new message button. Having typed the message he looked at it for about a minute with his thumb on the send button. After a few more seconds, he pressed it:
- How are you?
...He's still waiting for the reply.