I hate talking through the phone, yet when the distance kept us apart, I was always searching for an excuse to talk, to text. Although each message seemed pointless, every word translates to: “I can’t stop thinking of you” and “I wish you were here”
Unspoken yet lingering within the gaps of each alphabet, under the foot of each consonant. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. Eventually, I’ll stare at the screen and press both thumbs against the glass as if to see whether you were doing the same. Were you?
I miss you.
A.Z, an excerpt from my journal