Digital Parchment.

I need you so much closer.”

It was just black Arial text on a white back ground staring at me unflinchingly from the frame of my monitor.

Eight little words delivered to me via a tool bar downloaded and installed into my fire fox to entertain me as I browsed this great tangled mess called the Internet. He didn’t send it to me directly you see, he thumbed it up. Possibly several months ago, maybe a week before I received it, could have even be the day before it arrived onto my screen.

It arrived, actually, sometime early last week and I haven’t said anything about it–that’s a bad habit of mine. I don’t say things to the important people. I write them for the world to see; I bare my dark little places with courage to a room full of strangers. When it comes to close friends or family, to the people I should say things to? My mouth shuts tight with the clang of savage bear trap. So I never told him that I got it. I never told him how it rang within me like old sounds lost forever in endless deep-earth caverns.

I know that after I read it several times, I went very still.

The television had long been turned off before he’d gone to work. The birds were unusually calm, the cats napping, the house hummed along with its central air conditioning; everything appeared to follow me in this moment. Movie directors have been attempting to perfect this single moment without much success. It is when the span of a heart beat stretches on for endless minutes, when the world to your right and left become a blur and all you can see is the tunnel of clarity directly in front of you.

For me, it was nothing more than black font on a white page.

I need you so much closer.”

It wasn’t noise that brought me back to this world. It wasn’t the cat knocking something over or the sleepy chirp of our pet cockatiel. It was the emotion that welled up into my throat to make the back of it ache then tighten.

It was the understanding that right here on this very planet, in a million, million lost souls gasping, lamenting, clawing, screaming, wishing, praying, wanting for love–trying so hard to be loved–fighting for love, that I had already. That I’ve always had it. That I have it every day. That is sleeps beside me, snoring away every night and it gets up in the morning and it goes to work and it plods through shitty people with shitty attitudes to bring home money that it spends on me even when it doesn’t really have the money TO spend on me. It wakes up in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep to roll over when he’s snoring because it knows I can’t fall asleep when it does. It’s the hand that curves around my hip jolting me awake after fighting all night to go to sleep anyway. It’s the cheesecake that mysteriously appears in the fridge when I’m on my period and ready to kill everything that tip toes around me. It’s the quiet, adamant insistence that there’s nothing wrong with me and that I am beautiful no matter how many rolls of fat I can count.

It’s the man I married, quietly thumbing up a web page with the words:

I need you so much closer.”

And I’m trying.

I’m trying.

I love you.

About the author: Pinkatron2000

Pinkatron2000