recorded
you find yourself holding a receiver. it is the heavy kind. the cord is the cord of a house you used to know. you are dialling a number you cannot quite remember; your finger goes around once, twice, and the wheel takes longer to return each time.
you reach the last digit. there is a click. there is a long, civil tone. someone is on the line. you say hello. they say something you cannot make out, but you can tell they are someone you have been meaning to call. the line breathes. you say their name and it is the wrong one; you say it again, and the cord is no longer in your hand. you are holding the receiver and the wall.
you try once more. the number resists. the dial has fewer holes than before. somewhere in another room a phone is ringing — not yours, not theirs. you understand that you are not meant to reach them in this dream. you understand that they tried, also, once. you set the receiver down very gently, in case it might still echo. across the table is the unsent letter, also waiting.
recorded on waking · undated