Have you ever walked towards the telephone, hands trembling like being frostbitten and your heart cindering with every flow in your valves being so felt now and your mind reeling as if being blasted apart by a ray of epiphany and your emotions tumbling in a tumult and flying in all directions but at the same time so compressed within you that you could feel yourself imploding and you know that you cannot because you have to speak clearly to speak your mind?
And you picked up the receiver.
And then you realised your hands are not dialing.
And then, at this very singular moment, that is defined as the summation of the futility of your actions, you know not who to call.
The receiver hangs limply in your agape fingers, wearing a tired but shocked expression like your face.
Resignation.
The receiver is capped back on the phone, in a fluid, not-too-hard-nor-forceful motion.
This, is the nadir.