Contact online…

You: “Hi”

Contact: no reply…

2 ticks turn to blue ticks that persist in the space between 3 missed calls,

now my phone feels like a hand held crucifix under the weight of it all.

I’m not equipped with the broad shoulders to withstand heartache over and over;

so anxiety tells me: “run”

But i barely walk before these scrawny legs trip and fall over; caught in the dimples of her profile picture wondering if I’m still sober.

Let me try again

You:

“Hello?”

Blue ticks echo

Contact: last seen moments ago

Hashtag, dying slow,

her attention feeds my ego

But I’m told: man cannot survive on pride alone…

he must be a farmer of joy,

her smile keeper…

I strive to inspire the corners of your mouth to rise till your eyes ignite like fireflies in the night,

whispers like milk tarts from beekeepers.

Your laughter melts ice cream with Turkish delights;

Nothing’s sweeter.

Thus I’m bitter,

drowning in the silence of your

blank profile picture…

1 tick lingers…

message not delivered.