The words we leave behind. The dates, the time sent, the informality of greetings. The exclamation mark that reassures goodwill. The sign-off that never means more than the next time. Logged in dialogue that binds us in the moment that we will forget, until we have to remember.
The first time is curious. A new contact that found you for reasons that you read about with a click. Good or bad, you mattered enough for that initial hello, and the hope that you will say, yes. The reply can be dismissive or eager, but either way, it reaches destination.
The back and forth is mandatory to lay groundwork for what’s to come.
It’s standard procedure for the one who sought you out, but for you, it’s an interesting detour to channels of progression. You’ve been asked to participate. It feels good. The details are simple, and when you hit the button that changes screen, the waiting game begins.
It’s quick. The invitation for more can be deleted or saved, but the universe endorses the occurrence. There will be additional requests and then a face-to-face to for re-establishment.
Work mode with pleasantries. Questions that need to be answered. Answers that were sincerely thought about. Recommendations for what will be registered, moving forward. Sneak peeks into unfinished lab work. The home for your words will extend into a more inhabitable shell. It will be functioning with echoes of what you shared and digested.
What is over is never really over. We move so fast and denounce sitting still. We publish and share. We read and highlight. We mull over stats and then shrug away missing symbols. We commune for chats and then go back and add. We notice alterations and adopt or reject. We assume we will pile on to what already grows stale in a matter of seconds.
On a sunny afternoon, I was still. I was very quiet. The rustling of trees in sheets of green took me away for a minute, and that name swept into view.
In the library of sent were the words. Hers, mine. Entombed in moments not that long ago, when we breezed past each other for the duty of communication, and the favor that would last a lifetime.
Those words outlive her. Those words will outlive me.
But the best part was the informality of it all, warmly sent.