I have phone conversations with you in my head.

They probably will never happen because the thought of actually calling you makes my hand shake a little, but my imagination does pretty well. You’re always so sensible on these calls. So grounded. I’ve told you this before, haven’t I? That you’re a rock in my world, so steady and solid while everything else seems to fly around you. On the phone I hear your laugh, and I know its all okay. I see that I’m blowing it all out of proportion because it is so incredibly obvious to you. Just as right and wrong always seem so obvious to you. In these conversations we talk effortlessly, words spilling out of my mouth and reactions forming from yours. Everything begins to make sense, I put the pictures together, and I know the reason why we are so unlucky. We are unlucky because we got off center when we weren’t given a chance. When that chance was pulled away by my doubts and my insecurities and my foolishness, it knocked the planet just enough to give us both bad luck. We could fix it, you realize this, right? If you could give me one more chance; I know I could fix it. Over the phone in my head, we do fix it, and before we hang up we both know that soon, so very soon, we will talk again. And the world returns to spin on axis.