This is a love letter

When I called you late last night

My phone’s call log has it: Last night at 11.55 I did call you. The call lasted 1 minute and 18 seconds.

You sounded yawny, hswswaffy, scroggy, groggy, soggy, toggy, moggy, foggy, shrfrugggy. Sorry for waking you up. Well, sleeping dogs should be left to lie; except when the sleeping dog is your betrothed sleeping miles away from you. Your responses were “OK, OK, same, OK, same, same, OK.” I was almost thinking you were with somebody in bed; some other man that is. I was almost tempting you to say my name and say “Baby I love you” a la Destiny’s Child. But you are not a naughty girl, ama?

Now let me tell you why I called you late last night.

I called you to feel alive. The day had harassed and crucified me so fervently I felt I had to talk to the one person among the few who might cry with sincerity when I die. With that gassy and puffy “Hallo” you said, all my troubles were shoved aside and I was alive again.

I called you, honey, so I could feel loved. I had met a couple hugging outside our residence as I came from buying vegetables. The embrace made me so, so jealous and I had to communicate to the one who has the mandate; the monopoly to give me such comfy. With that “OK, same, same” you uttered, I felt so loved; so important.

I called you for emotional healing. I don’t know why yesterday’s episode of In the Name of Love made me so charged up. It made me keep having fantasies and I felt the best way I could dispose of them was to call my beloved. With that chuckle you produced when I made the Cassidy joke that you are almost as cute as me, I felt like the main-most character in life’s biggest soap opera.

I called you because of a song. Mark Antony’s song, You Sang to Me, is still my ringtone mind you. I listen to it every other hour. My phone and its earphones haven’t complained so I guess I should still like the song. The jamaa’s voice as he says that he called his love late last night for comfort just appeals to me. Funny how humans’ experiences can sometimes resemble. You know what, as you churned those half-asleep, half-intelligible, half-romantic OKs and sames, you sang to me. O honey, you sang to me.  

I called you out of insomnia. Sleep doesn’t come easy to me nowadays, perhaps because I have too many thoughts, too many responsibilities, too many assignments. The most lulling thing to me of late is your sassy voice. So, for the one minute and 18 seconds you groggled and sroggled and smuffffed and rthussshed, you ad lib’ed a sweeter lullaby that Celine Dion’s. And how soundly I slept afterwards!

I called last night to ask the Abba question, “Why can anyone feel so lonely?” . . .