Quaking rocks

I was never there, but he typed,
'How I wish you could come back here.'
I read the line again and again trying hard
Not to reply... At least not to go on conversing
About it... A different turn of subjects.
Studies, assignments and work.
But he got back to it again.
It was not about the fervent words
Not about the sighs and aches,
But a reflection of myself that had faded away.
That I had destroyed and never wanted to see again.
He would not hesitate to speak
He would not rest till memories were revived.
Till I cried...
Till I had another restless night.