There is static on the telephone. All the words that we didn’t say are crackling while we breathe on either side. Our stories, both from our days and from elsewhere, unfold while we stand far away from each other tapping our feet against the damp floor.

There is an urgency to narrate the small details – the curly tail of a stray and the sinking feeling at the end of a long meeting. My thoughts tumble out, rushing through a small chute like rainwater. You are making hums of acknowledgment on the other side. You tell me a few tales; ones that I lap up hungrily, so as to miss anything.

Eventually, it’s all been said. There’s the silence that creeps into most things. The silence that is both comforting and terrifying at the same time.

The phone makes a few more sounds; faraway traffic and bubbling pops. The connections threatens to die on us and we hang up. My face stretches into a small smile; even though the conversation has been commonplace.