cynical carousels,
And then he's going to say, "It's still hot he..."
"...re, as usual. Work? Still as str..."
"...essful as always. Okay, babe. I..."
"...love you, too. Bye." He put down the phone.
I put down the glass cup from the wall and headed for bed. This is how I usually end my night ever since he moved in the vacant room next door last month. My old neighbor couldn't take all the racket everyone made and packed up. You see, this is a small cheap apartment that I, as well as he, live in. And so, everyone could hear almost everything here, whether they like it or not.
But that's actually why I moved in here. I like it. I like listening to the couple two doors from mine arguing over who washes the dishes. I like listening to the snoring of the old lady, unaware that she left the TV on. I like listening to the kid playing the guitar, even though he can't. But hearing the voice next door and how it makes all the noise seem like whispers to me is what I like most.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in love with him or anything like that. I guess I'm just curious. He probably has only seen me once or twice. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Far away from where he is right now. So they talk every night. And every night I listen. But it's always... always the same thing. It's like a tape playing over and over again. Some how-are-yous and a lot of I'm-fines. He even says "I love you." Still, for someone like me who has never been in love, every word sounded hollow.
I was the third of five children in our family. Ever since I was a kid, I was always the one who didn't get much attention. No matter how hard I tried to make my parents notice me, in the end they still didn't know I existed with them at that moment. So I stopped trying to speak up and started listening. Just listened. To my mom. To my dad. To him.
I continued to do so. Every night, with the glass cup from my bedside table, I eavesdropped on their unchanging conversations. Unchanging until now. It was later than when he usually calls her. I thought it would be the same old stuff they talked about. But there were a lot of pauses in between his words.
"Hey, sweetie. Umm... Yeah, I missed you, too... How's California..."
I thought he was gonna tell her about his work or the weather here. But he doesn't.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this anymore. It's just not working for me..."
He put down the phone.
I put down the glass cup and head for bed. This is how I usually end my night ever since he moved in the vacant room next door two months ago. I smiled to myself and drifted off to sleep. ● by Cynical Carousels
Literary: Earshot
"Hey, sweetie... I missed you, too. How's California? Oh, yeah? That's nice..."And then he's going to say, "It's still hot he..."
"...re, as usual. Work? Still as str..."
"...essful as always. Okay, babe. I..."
"...love you, too. Bye." He put down the phone.
I put down the glass cup from the wall and headed for bed. This is how I usually end my night ever since he moved in the vacant room next door last month. My old neighbor couldn't take all the racket everyone made and packed up. You see, this is a small cheap apartment that I, as well as he, live in. And so, everyone could hear almost everything here, whether they like it or not.
But that's actually why I moved in here. I like it. I like listening to the couple two doors from mine arguing over who washes the dishes. I like listening to the snoring of the old lady, unaware that she left the TV on. I like listening to the kid playing the guitar, even though he can't. But hearing the voice next door and how it makes all the noise seem like whispers to me is what I like most.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in love with him or anything like that. I guess I'm just curious. He probably has only seen me once or twice. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Far away from where he is right now. So they talk every night. And every night I listen. But it's always... always the same thing. It's like a tape playing over and over again. Some how-are-yous and a lot of I'm-fines. He even says "I love you." Still, for someone like me who has never been in love, every word sounded hollow.
I was the third of five children in our family. Ever since I was a kid, I was always the one who didn't get much attention. No matter how hard I tried to make my parents notice me, in the end they still didn't know I existed with them at that moment. So I stopped trying to speak up and started listening. Just listened. To my mom. To my dad. To him.
I continued to do so. Every night, with the glass cup from my bedside table, I eavesdropped on their unchanging conversations. Unchanging until now. It was later than when he usually calls her. I thought it would be the same old stuff they talked about. But there were a lot of pauses in between his words.
"Hey, sweetie. Umm... Yeah, I missed you, too... How's California..."
I thought he was gonna tell her about his work or the weather here. But he doesn't.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this anymore. It's just not working for me..."
He put down the phone.
I put down the glass cup and head for bed. This is how I usually end my night ever since he moved in the vacant room next door two months ago. I smiled to myself and drifted off to sleep. ● by Cynical Carousels
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