I save the texts I never sent him. I learned to do this when his repeated flat responses, left me crestfallen. Is the disappointment we feel when someone doesn’t match our energy a thing? Or is it a modern invention, as superficial as texting? Were people in the past crushed upon receiving austere replies to their passionate letters? Surely they were.
In a wireless world, where everything is mysteriously
floating, unseen, in the air, information saved on clouds, and virtual mail
sometimes delivered to Spam folders instead of Inboxes. I long to be anchored;
a heavy earpiece in my grip, tethered to a boxy device, curling and uncurling
my fingers around the rubbery wire. My voice, my words running on legs of
meaning and intention through tangible lines, burrowing into walls, journeying
through underground roots, on tree like telephone poles, finally reaching my
loved one on the other side.
One of the unsent texts, still living in the dark knotty
weave of my cell’s algorithm, is a funny meme I found on Pinterest. I imagined
his elusive, sometimes hazel, sometimes green eyes flash with recognition, his
backward laugh Ah ah ah ah, when the joke sunk in. But on second thought, I
knew it was all in my head, that his response won’t be more than a subdued
little scoff
Another aborted text is a photo I took of a sunset, the sky
put on its best show, a violent red, tearing the stomach of a royal purple
background. I captioned it “look! The world is on fire!” But I was too eager,
and I knew his vacuous response will leave me swelling with unmet, and
unequaled energy.
Some texts I wrote, then immediately deleted, when I feared I
was being too poetic, “you are more with me in your absence.” Or too
philosophical, “I feel I’m in the middle of the story; where the fruit is
almost ripe, and the wisdom almost won, but you remain in the beginning.” like
sandcastles they looked sturdier in my mind, but crumbled when I set out to
construct them.
“This relationship isn’t sustaining me.” This text I sent.
When we were together I wondered how he remained untouched by the world? How he
managed to go through life with barbed wire around his heart? His body the
purest white alabaster? While mine a multicolored patchwork, of everyone that
built and destroyed me. When he refused to communicate, I convinced myself he
was emotionally unavailable When we did speak, our words missed each other,
like poorly aimed arrows, I saw them fall dead on the ground.
Listen to an audio of this memoir piece here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Txj5txWW9wI&t=157s
