When the internet goes dark, I will have been happy to see your face again.

I will close my eyes sometimes to remember, and smile at all the nuance in the memory.

Sometimes it’s like this:

Stripped down, bare bones. Handfuls of dirt, clinging to the earth.

Bold propositions. Expectant, waiting.

I know the news is coming.

The cold ocean splashes at my feet. They suction to the saturated sand, leaving prints that disappear over and over. Only the essence of contact remains.