secret motel

We've been talking on the phone almost every night for the past week and a half. I'm nothing more than a friend to her. But I'll take that. It means so much to me to have her voice in my ear, that she thinks enough of me to want to talk with me night after night and share with me all the good news and bad news of her existence. I listen to all of her. I can hear her shifting in her bed, the rustle of her blankets and pillows. I listen to her hair. I love the fact that mine is often the last voice she hears before she goes to sleep. She received my package today. I sent her some books and a letter and a copy of one of my airline disasters. I'll enjoy this while it lasts. Because I know it's only a matter of time before she meets someone more significant--and I'll lose her, too.