The Art of Not Hanging Up

It’s a strange power she has over me—this ability to keep my phone glued to my hand, even when the conversation has reached its natural end. The part of me that usually shrugs things off and says, "Yeah, we’re done here," just doesn’t show up when it’s her on the other end of the line.

I mean, it’s not like I’m some guy desperate for attention. Hell no. But with her, it’s different. Every goodbye feels like a small betrayal, like hanging up might somehow cut the thread connecting us across the miles. So, instead, I sit there, phone warm in my hand, making up excuses to linger.

“Wait, did I tell you about that crazy guy on the train today?”“Have you heard this song? No? Hold on, let me play it for you.”“Oh, one more thing…”

It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve never been the guy to drag things out. But she’s turned me into someone who won’t hit the red button because the thought of her saying, “You hung up first!” just doesn’t sit right.

And here’s the kicker: I’m not even mad about it. She makes me want to break my own rules. I’ll stay on that line, letting her ramble on about her day, her cold, her neighbor’s loud dog—anything. Because in those moments, I’m not just a guy with a phone. I’m her guy, the one who treats her like the queen she is.

Sure, I’ll make jokes about it later, like, “You’re really working me like a 24-hour hotline here, huh?” But in the moment, I’d stay on forever if she asked. Because when she’s far away, that voice is all I have, and I’ll take every second of it.

And maybe I am a little whipped. Maybe. But let’s be honest—what kind of king doesn’t bow to his queen?