Your online status Its 'Available' mocks me, to me? surely not. But I wouldn't care if I knew you were present for some who will cry. Those souls will not mind, if you leave all the deadlines behind, when you die.
I send only one, of fifty texts that I draft then say it's the last. Chiselled from heartache, my words pretend to be light, love hides in plain sight. And each time I get a thoughtless response, or none I swear I am done. But these pregnant texts, seem to be writing themselves, yearning to be sent.