I was expecting a lot of things, but not this strange tinge of sadness that washed over me.

She called. I answered. There was a one hour window. A desperate need. I promised a solution and delivered it with earnest attention.

She knows so much but still so little.

I wanted to pin her against the wall and make her understand why I’m different with her.

There’s a carefulness that emerges when I am near her. It drives out my usual carpet bombing nature with which I smother the world.

With her, I’m reminded of standing there as a child watching my mother unwrap her antique holiday decorations. Each one was so fragile, exotic, irreplaceable and commanded respect and awe.

As the time came to an end I held her as close as I could and I made her promise to stay near, to not push away.

The words were probably said in vain but I had to try.

Her reply was simply: “I know. I am sorry.”

And so, afterwards, as I got out of my car, the wild red lights that filled my mind just an hour before were violently replaced with heavy dark blue tones. My right leg buckled as I tried to walk to my door. An emptiness consumed me.

I was alone, again. And I will remain incomplete until, once more, the call comes.

And, yes, I will answer — forever.