I used to see the blinking cursor on a white page, domineering, overbearing, sneering at me. At my lack. At the spaces I dared not take up.

I could almost hear it saying, "You're always like that. Parking me at this point in a huge, open white space. You set the plan, the time, and the possible sources of inspiration. But still, here I stand. You always cower to make me move."

So now I am here, making the cursor run on this vast white space, just slower than how my mind runs to you. Probably 70 kilometers per hour. Probably how a maglev-powered bullet train moves. Probably, how I want teleportation could be done.

Since you have made it almost like a ritual to say "Tell me about your day," I see this cursor not just as a starting point whenever I want to ask, "How are you?".

This cursor is my door towards where you are. So I am hoping to speed up to that space and time where you can meet me -- arms wide open, green eyes shimmering just like how I see it in your photo, and smiles that kiss my soul.

I want this cursor, as it already has, to just say in all humility and honesty: That I want you. I need you. So bad. Today has been so different because we did not exchange goodnight last night. So, I woke up feeling empty. I panicked a lot, and I threw up. I called up my counselor to have a good cry.

Crying is a good start to acknowledge what is going on in my heart, in my body, in my mind as you occupy my thoughts -- whether I am awake or asleep.

This cursor would move and craft all the wonderful things that you have made me feel. This cursor will not just keep on blinking anymore. It will occupy this vast, wide space that is now getting a bit smaller. If this white space is our chasm, then the cursor will patiently, lovingly, and gracefully run so it can close the gap between you and me.

I want to say I miss you. But I cannot say it audibly yet.

For now, this cursor will do that task.

I terribly, unconditionally miss you.

I miss how you make me smile: your words, whenever I receive them, are like the most special treat that I can taste only on Christmas Eve.

I miss how you make my heart skip: your words, whenever I read them, are more than an intimate time in bed. Although I must admit, it could be awesome to hear your praises for me as you whisper them to me when you kiss my neck and my ears. Your words are more than the best kiss. Although I can't deny hoping that your lips will meet mine and that our tongues will dance together as we embrace.


I miss how you make me feel desired and honored. Being desired does not always require honor for most men, but with you, I feel that you give it to me generously, even if I did not ask for it. How come you are there, so far away, but have that power, almost like magic? That power of words that you say unfolds on the page that I have been waiting for all my life.

I did not see this coming. What started as an intellectual exchange has turned into something so beautiful that I wish it would never end. When you said you just want to hug me to ebb my pain even slightly, my world shifted. I did not know that's all I needed to make me realize I am still alive.

You sat with me in my pain. And I said I would love to do it with you, too, if you need it. Then you revealed you like me. Now I don't know what to do. If only it were possible to hug you back without feeling guilty, most probably, that's the first thing that I will do.

And so I guess, as both you and I take this time to be silent, I will make this cursor do its work of filling this excruciating gap. I never wanted to cause you pain. I never wanted to make you feel wanting and hanging. I just need time to learn that what we feel for each other is just human. That desire is not poison but an antedote to a dying heart.

I will just be here, half-asking myself if your cursor also threads on your white space to be with me.

I am here. Not making my cursor stop to find where your heartbeat lies. When it does, I will press my ears to your chest to listen.

Know that I am just here.