We sit side by side. We exchange words, glances, laughs. We show each other things on our phones. Occasionally, her fingers brush mine and when they do, there is no spark — as if the electric dance was already spent on digital ink — fluttering into physical familiarity.
…photo for her then put the phone down. I wouldn’t get a message back. I shouldn’t be expecting one. I never knew how long the gaps would be — enough to keep things loose, but not so unstable as to collapse. And in those spaces, possibility grew despite my vain attempts to bury it.