Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
Phone calls were a delicate balance of silences and vibrations, the silences counting more than the vibrations. The silence hung there, like pregnant raindrops foreboding a dark storm.
I hate you too.
The silence stormed into both of them and electrified their spirits and hearts to something greater than both. This was a storm after the drought, a refresher from the hard work of loving from afar, it was the breath between the exhausting run, so they breathed in each other. And breathed. And breathed.
The silence remained even after the dial tone sounded.