Broken Phone, Broken Heart

My self-resolve crumbled as soon as the phone hit the wet grass. What had I done? I loved him, no matter what he had done.
I put down the book and went to search for my phone.
If it still works, I told myself, then I’ll call him back and tell him how much I still love him, how much I need him.
But what if it didn’t work?
Then I’ll… But I couldn’t even finish my thought. It was too painful. All through this, I had clung to the ridiculous hope that somehow, somewhere, somebody would wave a magic wand, and everything would be better. That hope was being dashed.
I finally found the phone, hard and cold on my bare foot. I grasped its cold wet surface, but before I looked, I looked for our star again. It still shone, brightly and bravely.
Then I looked at my phone.
It wasn’t on.
I opened it and desperately punched a few buttons at random, including the ‘on’ button.
But nothing happened.
My phone and my heart were broken, and the only repairman was long gone.

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