Heartstopper-32 min and 31 sec

I sit here. And listen to you breathe.
It got louder because the phone just got pressed closer to your flushing red lips.
I imagine you lying there, in bed, wrapped up in your red blanket on top of that king size mattress with no bed frame. Your hair’s down and brushed back so your sleepy eyes are exposed to whoever lies within ten feet from you.
Your hands are occupied.
One, barely hanging on to the edge of the phone. Like a hand sandwich.
One piece of bread would be the pillow. The other would be your rose cheek.
Your other hand is at your side, placed gently near your waste. If only I could walk into this phone, I’d be near your side within seconds, trailing my fingertips along your jaw line, up to your forehead, down the slope of your nose, eventually reaching those lips that I can’t seem to not touch whenever I look at you.
The breathing got more distant, which means that the phone probably slipped away- no longer being a phone sandwich.
Your dreams, I can’t even begin to encounter on improvisation. Hopefully they’re good dreams. If not, then I’ll find some way for you to forget those nightmares. In a while, I’m going to hang up this phone. I don’t want to use up your minutes. So I’m going to sit here. And hum “heart stopper” while listening to you sing back to me that sweet symphony of inhales and exhales – and then I’m going to hang up. Then continue my sketches for you. Ones you hardly ever get to see.