I’m tired of typing letters onto a screen and pretending it’s a conversation. I miss everything about your voice; I cannot remember what it sounds like when you smile or when you become nervous over your words.
The bright screen does not show me your eyes as they excitedly widen or the way your hands move when you become flustered over a topic.
This inanimate object does not give me your liveliness or splendor. I detest the way it smothers your essence. The beeps of the incoming message can in no way replace your sweet laughter nor can it substitute your quiet murmurs carrying secrets and desires.
Hatred bubbles in my veins over the insignificant device but I am unable to break my addiction to it. Leaving it is as if I’ve left you. I am bound to you through a pulseless machine and I wish nothing more than to see you and let my phone go.