MSN Messenger

MSN MESSENGER
by Peter Alistair

She is making me walk the plank, and I am on the edge once more. I am hanging on to her every word that appears on the screen. The messages are coming far apart now; in the time between, my heart endures a dull ache. I suffer forever.

My eyes are quick to glance on the screen. My mind is slow to register that there is no message from her. Silence may mean many things but tonight silence means pain. Exquisite pain.

Without warning, a short musical ring heralds the arrival of her words. My heart jumps. Her message flashes on screen.

A one-liner.

She did not even bother to put in the punctuation mark. The message is cold and bland, and my heart freezes over. I feel a heavy weight impress upon me the truth that is slow to dawn: she still does not care.

All this time I thought I have learned the trick not to end up waiting, anticipating. I thought I have learned not to fall in the pit of assumption, of even giving it a thought.

Yet now I find myself hanging on to every word she sends. She is a sea and a world away yet for her, I am again unmistakably waiting.