I used to dial her number without thinking. My fingers knew it like muscle memory—the same way your feet carry you to bed when you’re too tired to think straight. It didn’t matter if I had something big to say or if I just wanted to rant about someone at the gas station being rude. She always answered. She always listened. And now… she doesn’t.
So if you’re asking who I’d like to talk to soon?
It’s my mother. Always my mother. Even now.
I’d like to talk to her about the weird dreams I’ve been having. I’d like to tell her how I saw someone at the store who looked just like her from behind, and I followed that poor woman for two aisles like a total lunatic before I realized my heart had tricked me.

I’d like to ask her if I’m doing this right—life, grief, raising kids while trying to keep myself from unraveling like a loose thread on a sweater that once fit better than it does now. I’d ask if she thinks Derek knows I’m scared sometimes, or if Zarek realizes just how proud I am of him even when I forget to say it.
And I’d listen—God, I’d actually shut up and listen—if I could hear her voice again. Even if it was just one more time. Even if it was just a voicemail that I never deleted.
Because no matter how many people I talk to today, tomorrow, or next week, there’s always this one conversation I’m still waiting to finish. The one I never got to end properly.
So who would I like to talk to soon?
The woman who gave me my voice, and the grace to use it.
If there’s someone you’ve been meaning to call, don’t wait. Life is a strange mix of missed calls and memories that won’t stop ringing.
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