Call me baby.


Call me love.

Call me baby.

It’s a drug that stays in the system; after the high, after the fall.

You wake up in the ER dazed and calling out for the thing that put you there. What’s that about?

Shoot me with a needle, swallow all the pills, and it won’t change anything. I will still want you.

Correction: I will still want the idea of you. Soft words in dirty sheets and pet names that should have meant something.

There’s a path of memory that only leads the one way, and, at its end, I can still hear a whisper at my neck.

Go again, love?

I’ll follow a trail of breadcrumbs straight to a witch’s pot at the memory of those soft lies.

Honey, I said I would, didn’t I?

You did. You said everything and nothing. Everything and nothing, punctuated with baby and edited into a seductive soundtrack.

It isn’t the lies I miss. Truly. It’s that illusion of safety in the words.

There, baby, right there. 

Today, I bought groceries, and I took the kids to school. I managed to slip out of a cold bed without hitting snooze. I went to work.

Nobody called me baby. I survived it.


Copyright 2018 Jolie Mason/ jmasonbooks.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Website Built with

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: