Disconnected

I'm not used to my phone not ringing. Part of me is waiting for him to call, hoping that he'll ring and say it's all been some sort of big mistake.

I miss waiting underneath the blankets, unwinding slow from a long day, as the phone chirps to life by my side, waiting three short rings before I answer, so as not to seem too eager.

I remind myself that soon I will get used to this too. The phone not ringing. The quiet returning to my evening hours.

And I have to wonder, what it is I miss more, the sound of the phone or the sound of his voice?