Babe, I miss you.

I wasn't supposed to like you, babe. We met fortunately or unfortunately some random day on Tinder. You swiped right across my face and afterwards, my fingers couldn't stop to swipe right across yours. I was excited, honey. I knew there was something so palpable, so infinite about the feeling that I got when I texted you. It's indescribable. I just felt so calm. And grounded. Needless to say, you haven't even uttered a word.

I fell in love with the way you smiled when you saw my face the very first time on Skype. I cupped my fingers across my sweatshirt tighter, because I was cold and also because I was scared. Who was I to hook up with someone on Skype? Who was I to question fate, a mere coincidence that brought two people together who shouldn't have met in the first place? You were only four continents away. I was dreamy, ecstatic about our connection and the power of the internet and how easily it made me so connected to you. It only had been a few days. But baby, I was hooked. Deep breaths, I told myself. Don't rush it. Don't rush it. If it's meant to be, it will be.

How stupid I was, babe? I'm still sitting here, crying across my lamp that's shining brightly unlike you in my life. I think I'll give myself false hope till I recover from the drug that was you. I have to.