Late texts donāt bother me. And neither does being left on read for long. Text me when you have the time, when the air around you feels just right, when the world isnāt tearing you apart into a thousand different versions of yourself and your wrists are not weighed down by holding things you no longer want to.
Life goes on. The blue dots on my phone wobble up and down like bubbles in boiling water, vanishing behind the screen as quickly as they form. The single and double ticks donāt carry an ounce of the warmth a human hand carries. I have learned that none of us is obliged to meet othersā expectations.
I sit in the sun and wonder about things that Iām too afraid and shy to tell anyone. Your texts lie with a hundred other notifications, waiting to be swept away, like sand castles built on a beach. So please, take your time. Our chat will not become a graveyard if left unvisited. It is a fortress that will not wither with the flow of time.
You send me a reel at 1:37 in the night when I am on the verge of completing a chapter of the book that has been on my shelf for too long. At 9 in the morning you text me asking about the college assignment while I am simmering my morning milk. So, sorry if I reply late, and I donāt mind if you do either. The time gap between your text and mine does not equate to a gap in how much we care for each other.
Late replies are a proof that a life is being lived off camera. A pile of clothes that need to be folded. Plants on the balcony waiting to be resurrected with a glass of water. Laughs to be shared. Tears to be wiped from cheeks. And love that has to be given before it is too late.
Our lives are not defined by how many texts we sent each other. We are not machines that can text all day. We are beings designed to live in the moment, not glued to a screen. So what if I was away for a day or a month? I am here now, show me what I missed. Tell me what you dreamt last night. Tell me where to put the bandage. Nothing has changed. You are YOU and I am I.
Our lives are an ever-flowing river. Too easy to bend, too hard to control. So please, take your time. Do your chores, sleep on weekends, reply to me tomorrow or day after that. And live a life.