esme inside
First thing every morning when I wake up I reach for my phone to check for text messages. I switch off the sound for the night so I never know. But I know these days, know without checking. I just don’t admit it.
During our wild times Esme and me were texting us like crazy, day, night, morning – the clock had no relevance for us, my life was filled with the incoming signal of a text message. That was perfectly fine as long as I was alone at home. With my girlfriend back here, I had switched to soundless. Now, I could easily turn on the sound at night again. There is no message coming in from Esme. I wonder whether there will be any again.
I could feel my heartbeat accelerating when I heard my phone blow its whistle. When I looked at the screen and saw her name, I felt a wave of happiness rush through my body. Swiping the message open with my thumb, I prepared for her voice. I saw her face when I read her words. I heard her talk in that snobby Brit accent I used to abhor before but found irresistible with her from the very first instant.
I remember reading her messages over and over again. She was so good with words, she knew where she could touch me. Reading her messages was like her making love to me with white pixels on a black desktop. I still have almost all her messages on my Neonode. Sometimes, when I feel especially self-destructive, I listen to “Almost Lover” via headphones and flip through her messages. I remember the days when I received them, remember what I texted her back, remember why she texted what she texted.
Reading her messages, I hear her talk to me. And her talking to me also feels like she making love to me, with her Brit accent which only sometimes has a crack in it through which you can see her own language shining through.
I love the way she talks to me. How could I not? I love Esme.
