the familiar click of an answering machine

sometimes it rings four times, sometimes only two or three. then the familiar click, and the congenial message that serves to remind me of a better place and better times. sometimes i leave a message, sometimes i just place the phone back in its cradle. sometimes i leave that big red booth merely hanging my head, other times i semi-slam the folding doors shut in an unseen demonstration of futile frustration. sometimes i get paranoid and think that maybe there's a reason that you're not answering my calls. other times i am almost overcome by a longing and a sadness that is completely foreign, even though i know all too well this feeling of longing and this fear of loss. as i was walking out of the tube tonight, i drifted a little too close to the train as it pulled away and i felt it brush against my sleeve, and for a fleeting moment, i felt a warm chill travel down my spine as i thought of what would happen if one of the doors caught my sleeve. and just then i smiled, my first smile of the night.