the way we were.

by kimberley veart 

You can feel distance in the delays on a telephone call. In the resounding, echoing quiet. If you count the seconds you can count the miles. 

To fill the void, you talk and I talk. We are drowning each other out, words descending into white noise. 

We are forced to abandon this futile attempt at communication.

"Can you hear me?"

ripe for the picking.

by colleen yo

“That’s the name of a fruit, isn’t it!” he says.

(ohmygodsheissocutewhatamidoing)

“Errr, I’m not sure?” she says.

(howgentelmanlytryingtopickmeupbycallingmeafruit)

“No, I’m pretty sure it is! Hold on.” [Whips out his smartphone]

(nowi’vejustmademyselflooklikeatechfreak)

“Okay…”
(soyouvegotgooglethishadbetterbegood)