Waiting for Your Call, I'm Desperate for Your Voice

I have all these phone numbers in my cell phone.

I have the phone numbers of two American guys, one from the US Marine Corps and one from the US Army, whom I met at Norwich University when I was there attending EF Language and Culture Camp in July 2009.

I have the American phone numbers of my fellow exchange student friends who are back in their home countries now, too. Their numbers are no longer in use, and neither is mine that they have.

I have the phone numbers of American friends, most of them can't even receive text messages from abroad, and most of the time I am unable to send text to other places than Europe, anyways.

I have the phone numbers of my American family.

I have the phone numbers of people in Norway that I used to be friends with in elementary school and middle school but no longer ever see. I don't even know if the numbers I have are theirs anymore. Not that it matters, because I don't see them, nor do I really feel like I want to.

I have phone numbers I've never even used, I just have them anyways.

Why do I keep all these seemingly useless phone numbers?

I have memories. Pleasant memories involving all of these people.

With the exception of my stalker. He's not dangerous, to anyone but himself anyways, he's just really annoying. He wouldn't quit calling and texting me. Even though I told him, I told my councellor, his councellor, the school principal and several office ladies, and I would have told the police if necesseary although I'm glad I didn't have to, that I wanted nothing and less to do with him. Oh well. It's over now.

I have memories involving people and the phone numbers that belong to them. Deleting these phone numbers... It feels like deleting the people from my life. Even though they might not even be in it anymore. I feel like I delete the memories I have of these people. And with some, they happened a very long time ago. With some, they are not many, but they are good. They're fragile. I don't want to lose what's left of a time I've probably even mostly forgotten already.

But good times are too precious to be thrown out the window.

Missing someone is not about the distance between you and them, or the time spent apart. It's about that moment when you do something, see or hear something, smell or taste something, anything, and you're reminded of them and wish that they could experience the same as you, with you.

♥ The Norwegian Teenager

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a teenager with thoughts

a teenager with thoughts

19, rland

This is an anonymous blog by a Norwegian teenage girl. I may reveal myself someday, but for now my identity shall remain unknown for those of you who do not already know who I am. I'll explain all of that later. Please leave a comment so I can see you've visited, in whichever language you prefer!