text messages and voicemails

twelve hours after i left a voicemail for you, i’m sitting in my office chair writing the things that repeat what is recorded in your mailbox. i wrote these things in a text message last night and then discarded those words and called you. i knew you wouldn’t answer the phone. we aren’t phone people. it is only the second time in four years that i’ve called you. you’ve never called me. we text. we email. we talk for hours in person but phone calls are off-limits. you texted me twice in two days. we don’t usually text that often. i knew from your first text message that you were reaching for help, asking for support. i recognize your subtle requests because they sound like mine. you don’t ask directly. you don’t ask at all. but i know how to read what you don’t write. i texted you back with a question inviting you to tell me all the things you’re holding in. you responded the next day in a text-length message about anger and depression and health concerns and disappointment for interrupted dreams. i called you knowing that you wouldn’t answer the phone. i called you knowing i’d leave a voicemail. i left that voicemail for your repeated listening so that you can follow my voice into the center of truth. my heart is holding your heart. your feelings are valid. your fears are understandable. anger, sadness, disappointment, and depression are temporary. those feelings will pass. your strength never wavers.

i was sitting in my car in a grocery store parking lot when i called you. i was sitting in my parked car because i didn’t know where to go next. i didn’t know whether to go home, visit a friend, walk inside the grocery store, stop at a bar, or go dancing. i didn’t know what to do and when i don’t know what to do i make myself sit in the unknowing until knowingness reveals itself. i was sitting still when i called you. i didn’t want to sit still. i wanted to drive and see where the car would take me if i didn’t decide in advance where to go. but i didn’t trust where i’d end up if i let myself run away from the feelings i didn’t want to feel. i can’t fall while sitting still but i trip and fall while running away. i trust my sitting still self even though i am chronically uncomfortable feeling the feelings i don’t want to feel. discomfort is inherently outside of one’s comfort zone. the magic happens outside of one’s comfort zone. i’m waiting for the magic to happen. today is the next day and i’m still sitting. i’m here. you know where to find me. i’m saved in your voicemail. i’m a text message away.



About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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One Response to text messages and voicemails

  1. Nathan says:

    When the Earth shines its light out through the human heart on the night sky, it looks like this

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