He looked at the phone in his hands. Had he just left that voicemail?  The green screen showed a five minute call to a familiar but nameless number.  Shoot.  Two months ago in a coffeehouse, she’d said to never contact her again.  She’d worn that red and orange floral dress he always loved.  She hadn’t met his gaze when his eyes welled up. She’d left without saying goodbye.  Yet he kept putting in his “hello”. A Facebook message ignored, A Snapchat conversation not even opened, this.  Maybe he should leave the country.


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