voicemail raze minutes before i was crawling around on the carpet naked, trying to explain to myself where my clothes disappeared to, i was listening to your voice in a bedroom that wasn't mine. i caught the call but let the machine get it. i didn't recognize the number. you spoke one sentence and hung up. i could see you standing in the dining room of the house we shared, resigned to the end of everything. i should have picked up. i should have let the tape wrap its frail arms around our last conversation. i shouldn't have left you alone. i tried to call you on a different phone downstairs, knowing you wouldn't be there. knowing you were nowhere now. every number i punched in showed up on the screen as something different. something wrong. i kept replaying a message that wasn't mine to keep on a loop in my head: "i just called to tell you i love you one more time." 221125 what's it to you? who go blather from