Similar Story (From somewhere on the Internet)

I still don't know where this passage came from, but I wish I did. I hope you like it.

You never said you were sorry, so it’s such a similar story. I waited for your call until the sun was creeping backwards along the halls, a solicitor shrinking from a slammed door. My home was textured in black burlap folds and spring cold snaps. My feet scraped across a dirty wooden floor, watching and waiting for the static secrets the telephones hold in lines across the sky.

I never learned why you damned my name, never felt that ecclesiastical shame that was my inheritance of memory from you. I feel the tremor in my hands, regular and precise, when I grip the windowsill and look for your coming at the driveway. And as I sink into the rocking chair I dream of a wiser thing to say.