She picked up her phone.
I, hopeless.
She put her phone down. Picked it up again when she got another buzz, not from me.
I messaged the other, she replied, said she's picked up and put down then phone, there was food, she was gone.
I was tired.
My own food sought after me. I dropped my journal and leapt to the fridge. It was what she'd made.
The day before she'd stopped responding.
Would I ever speak to her again?, sadness wrenched my gut.
Sadness twisted my gut.
I was sat on the toilet. Feeling achey but what from? Sick per usual. A pinch resided beneath a rib, didn't leave, didn't retreat, couldn't stretch it out, couldn't feel my lungs, couldn't feel any--
A buzz.
It was her. It was her!
But it wasn't her, it never was.
It never was.
A conversation regarding the mother shook me, felt wrenched from the inside out, tears filled eyes but didn't escape, I was by myself.
No buzz.
Only the sound of an infant.
Was it her? The infant. Where was it coming from?
Perhaps my tulpa. It hadn't developed well enough.
Virtual deity, it wasn't tulpa, I cried, nothing happened. Pages were blank, one half filled, nothing to say, no one to say it to.
No one to say it to.
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