Phone call...

Something,
is taking me to you tonight
something
is carrying me there
softly and tight
I don't fight
something
is running within me
resettling me beside the phone
on the side of my bed
I sit
not that comfortably sitting
as if i am sitting on the edge of my fate
wondering if i was late?
scared and certain
watching the waving curtain
a woman who is not me
calling a man who might be him
the man whose name is "him"
who is ultimately wearing his words
and leaving me naked within my silence
a man who might turn out to be a voice
who might turn around to be a face in the crowd
a pulse that brings life in me
the man whose pain has set me free
a frightened woman i see
is dialing these eight numbers
like the crashing thunders
shaking
waiting
for a word
or a silent breathe
he might answer with a "hello"
a "yes"
or a "who"
she would surprise him with her ignorant silence
as if she doesn't remember who she is exactly
most likely,
he might recognize her hesitation
as if she doesn't know
who she was calling
tears of joy were falling
and his voice penetrates her
no "hello"
no "yes"
nor a "who"
just a "how are you?"
as if he knew
when the time is due
It would be her
the woman who is his blue
madly searching for a reason
to be so lost in his gravity
the woman who is just an identity
that only shines within his clue
"I expected your call"
He said
perfect timing
melodious rhyming
I heard with your tender sigh
as the night was our witness,we were swallowed by time.