When You Miss Me, Just Call

Joe St. Pierre
Joe St. Pierre

When you miss me, just call.

Why do we overcomplicate things? Take our lives and twist them in circles? Make our emotions messy and muddled and misconstrued until we aren’t even sure what we’re feeling anymore?

Pick up. Dial. Pause. Speak.
It’s really just that simple.

When you come across a photograph of us, stuffed in one of the boxes under your bed. When you see my handwriting on the back of a picture frame. When you see the way the sunset gleams off a wine glass. When you take that old backroad home. When you drive with the windows down. When you sink into the couch where we used to curl up, me like a kitten in your lap.

When you taste the summertime air on your lips, I hope you remember me.

I hope that ache cuts deep, I hope that loneliness sets in, and I hope, most of all, that you reach for me. Across skies and galaxies, across wind and weather and static phone lines. Across cities and states and different dreams, I hope you reach for me.

Because no matter the time or distance, I’ll always love the sound of your voice.

There is a world of difference between us. Words that were said, and bitten back. Laughter that was shared, and stifled. Thoughts that were expressed, and held hostage in our brains.

We are now two souls, living independently of one another, chasing our callings, finding our way. But that will never mean you don’t matter to me.

Regardless of where we are right now, your name will still taste like strawberry wine and first kisses. Like naïveté and stubbornness. Bittersweet.

I hope you know I’ll answer. Love has a funny way of tying hearts together, and I always knew we’d be connected, even if our original feelings are no longer there. We always will be.

So I hope you call when you think of me.

When you’re reminded of the way I used to eat peanut butter straight from the jar, or used to go running at night so I could see the stars sprinkled across the sky. When it rains and you wonder where I am, and if I’m still afraid. (I am.) When you pour yourself a drink that tastes just like our first kiss.

Then I hope you call me.

I hope you push away the fear and muster up the courage. I hope your heart pounds and your hands sweat as you hold the receiver to your ear.

I hope you think of hanging up a million times, but you don’t.

And I hope my ‘hello,’ is just what you want to hear.

Timid. Eager. Confused. Calm.
To your Dial. Pause. Speak.

And I hope our voices fall into rhythm, thousands of words and stories to share. Across oceans and rivers, towns and memories, and years passed between us—I hope that phone call fills the gap. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

About the author

Marisa Donnelly

Marisa is a writer, poet, & editor. She is the author of Somewhere On A Highway, a poetry collection on self-discovery, growth, love, loss and the challenges of becoming.

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