Little Red Telephone Box

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A simple love story all thanks to a little red telephone box on a gray cobblestone street.

Submitted: August 05, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 05, 2012



Little Red Telephone Box
By Matty.

Every day I walk to this box.
A small little red telephone box ,
On a gray cobble stone street.
It stands alone,
Bright against the gray world.

No one uses it, only I.
No one to share it with,
No one to use it with,
Just me.
That’s all.

I stand before the telephone box,
A mid-thigh, black pleaded skirt,
A black pea coat,
Simple black thigh socks,
Basic black flats,
And a bright red beret.
My hair cascading down my back,
Gently brushing against my shoulder blades.

I open the door,
I step inside,
I close the door,
I dial my number,
I make my call,
I hang up,
I leave.

Simple as that.

But then I see a man,
This same man comes to this little red telephone box,
Right after me.
Like magic.

He opens the door,
He steps inside,
He closes the door,
He dials his number,
He makes his call,
He hangs up,
He leaves.

Simple as that.

He’s handsome,
Tall and lean,
A black blazer with slacks and shoes to match,
Sweet blonde hair,
Majestic blue eyes,
A smile that dances on lakes.

Who are you?

The next day,
The process repeats.
I open the door,
He opens the door.
I step inside,
He steps inside.
I close the door,
He closes the door.

I dial my number,
He dials his number.
I make my call,
He makes his call.
I hang up,
He hangs up.
I leave,
He leaves.

Simple as that.

Nothing changes.
Nothing changes at all.
Our outfits don’t.
Our routines don’t.
Nothing changes.

The following day,
I go to the little red telephone box,
But something has changed.
There is a note.
A sticky note?
Stuck to the phone with a piece of scotch tape.

I read it.
Hello miss, I see you every day,
I know you notice me.
I notice you.
Dial this number: 495-990-7835.
-Sincerely, the man of the little red telephone box.

Simple as that.

I pick up the phone,
I dial the number.
He answers.
His voice is pure as silk.

We exchange numbers,
We exchange names,
We exchange laughs.
Then we hang up.
And I leave the little red telephone box.

Now I walk to the little red telephone box,
But I don’t dial the number.
I wait for him to come.
Then together,
We walk from the little red telephone box,
To a coffee shop on the corner.
We bond over simple warm drinks.
Him, in his black blazer,
And me in my red beret

Simple as that.

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