Dishonesty and a Telephone

The screen lights up and flashes in the dark:
an ugly, neon lime,
intruding on her solitude
and causing her heart to race.
Slowly,
reluctantly,
she rises and walks,
and glances and pauses--
And waits for the ringing to stop.

How I've hurt this sweet man,
she thinks, ashamed, as the
answering machine picks up.
A few words, she hears,
but hollowly spoken,
and then: the sound of his voice.
But one quick hello,
I love you, goodbye,
so lovingly spoken,
if pained.

She tortures herself with
the messages left,
but never returns the call.
Nor answers the phone,
Nor writes him notes,
Nor sees him but when forced.

But then, did I not warn him?
She justifies her crime:
Neglect, a cold and distant love,
and spurning of his own.

An injurious game; gamble at best--
She's learned the horrible truth:
Whatever the greatness and power of love,
You cannot trust your heart.

.

.

Forth-two minutes of silence recorded before he could click the receiver.