Calling him leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It not only reminds me that I make him laugh more than he makes me, but that I put some time aside from my schedule to know about how his day is going. I should be working, writing, and working. But I call him. I am the one who asks about the other. 

He is too tired. He does not ask much about me. He says he cares. But does not ask. He always hangs up first. But that's maybe because I love his voice. I listen to the last note. I store the note in my ears. 

After he hangs up, I feel like choking. I sweat. I feel so warm, uneasy. 

I am left with the ghost of a feeling that I did something wrong. As if my life broke down due to the small talk. But I sweep the storms under the rug and smile. 

I live with this nightmare. I feel I am responsible for it. The smile afterwards says I'm strong enough to deal with it. I try to look at the bright side.

Yet it remains the black nightmare of my life.