Unread, Unsent

I don’t want to talk about my day. I’m too tired. Too much happened that didn’t matter and too little happened that did. 

I want to tell you that I’m hungry and ask if you are too.
I want to make a joke about how old we both are. 

Make decisions about dinner, handing the phone back and forth while we scroll on Doordash eventually coming to an agreement ending with a high five and excitement.
The countdown begins until we hear that knock on the door and settle down
Unpause the tv to watch a show… the one that everyone is talking about.

I would like it if you got me something off of my Amazon wishlist. 
Something 
Small. New. For me

I would play with it all night and cherish it lightly.

I’m not in the mood to cuddle or touch at all really
We both know that sex isn’t happening tonight. Not because there’s anything wrong, but rather because we’re comfy with the vibe. 
Not just comfy, happy. 
Happy in knowing that we have something solid enough to share but not brag about. 

We don’t post pictures because there’s nothing to post 
We don’t take pictures because we just don’t care
We stay home because we like it and drink coffee on the weekends wearing each other’s t-shirts. 

I’m not desperate for it. No. 
I’m not yearning for it. 
Frankly, if it were offered to me, I probably wouldn’t take it. 

What I want is the idea of it. 
I want it up to a certain point. 
On the phone, via text, with someone I barely know. 

I pick my phone up and turn it to face me. 
The screen is black. There is no text. There is no new message. There’s nothing at all.

Just hope… 
Hope that there will be 

A text, from a stranger, about something that will never exist.