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It's 4am and the phone is ringing. Stirring from sleep your heart immediately starts thumping like a child stamping the stairs to bed. Your head often realises before your heart that the call must be answered, but unlike your head your heart realises the pain that will be produced from answering that call. Rolling to the side of the bed you reach through the black nothingness to the receiver and to the stranger on the end. All pleasantries are dispelled at such an hour and you don't speak- picking up the phone is enough of an invite to the stranger. Then the words begin. Words you will replay over and over and over and over until they are etched in your memory like a favourite Christmas present, a family day or the lines of a favourite song; 'All I want for Christmas is yooooooouuuu'.

'Is this Miss Clude?'
A grunt is replied.
'I'm sorry'

In years to come the 'sorry' will anger you the most.
How dare they apologise, they don't know, they don't care.
The stranger you will never know but for years to come they will symbolically resemble the murderer of your life- coming to your house in the middle of the night taking you from your heavenly dreams to hell.

Sitting up now feeling the cold creep over your body you push away the duvet. Your body reacts and starts to shiver. In years to come you will stand outside in the snow just to make your body feel. The neighbours will stare.

'What'
'I'm sorry'
Again that word.

You hang up now but still refuse to turn on the light. The darkness is your friend it reminds you when you were asleep and unaware. You fall to your knees by your bed and rest your head on the floor. Tears fall. For years to come the tears will fall and fall and fall and fall. You roll on to your side and clutch your knees to your chest and rock.

The alarm clock bleeps but you carry on rocking and that's where they find you after they knock down the door and reach your bedroom. You remember the hands lifting you and you remember being put back into bed and the duvet being put back over you- and those words again.

'I'm sorry'

You don't leave the house for two weeks. The doctor is called and you are once again put into a state of sleep- the phone is unplugged. A pavilion response will always happen when the phone rings and for years to come you avoid answering the phone.

You attend meetings, you get a job and you visit friends. You cry at night and you sleep with the duvet off. You travel the world and you cry. Sitting looking at the eternal landscape, untouched - beautiful you cry till it hurts, til there is nothing left to feel. You return home and climb into bed and hug your knees.