My phone is my oxygen mask.
I can't breathe without it.
Every vibration and chime fills me with fresh air.

No, I am not addicted to technology.
I am addicted to you.

I wait for your messages to appear on my phone like a flower awaits rain in a desert,
Every mention of your name quenching a thirst I never knew I had.
I make up for not touching you by touching my screen, fingers outstretched over the pictures you send,
Reaching out for something beyond the glass.
The screen does not touch me back the way I wish you would.
The warmth of your skin hidden by the cold metal base.
The spaces between my fingers hold nothing more than metal and plastic,
When they long for your warm hands.
My laptop does not fit into the curves of my body the way you do.
The tablet lets you tell me about your day, but does not let me wipe the tears off your cheek.
I can look into a camera and send you pieces of me in pixels,
But you cannot caress my face when you close the image down.

I can close my eyes,
Hold my phone to my chest,
But you will not be next to me.
Your fingers not tracing figures  through my hair,
My arms do not hold your figure against mine.
Our feet will not touch in the middle of the night,
Instead I will reach out, feel the glass screen and type,
My eyes only half open,
You will not tease me for my hair in the morning,
You will not spill the glass of water on my nightstand.
You will not turn off the lights as I read,
You will not comment on the bear I embrace instead of you.

I stay up as late as my brain lets me, choosing each digital character carefully,
As if every right word brought you closer to my arms.
The gentle woo of your voice wishes me a good night and I picture your lips pressed against my neck,
Your arms around my waist.
Breathing into the back of my head,
Your intoxicating smell lingers on my nose from the last time I held you.
I close my eyes, click off the screen, and whisper that I miss you.
That the digital is not nearly enough.
That HD really just stands for highly dependent on you.

You and me? He said, we're like parallel lines.
Cursed to be apart forever, always just a little too far.
But your ***** is the same as mine, and even parallel lines meet at the horizon.

So meet me at the horizon, my love.
Reach across the gap between us and we can intersect where our fingers interlock.
Be my point "b". I will meet you wherever you want to go.
I might not be the "x" you've been looking for, but I'll always let you have the last piece of pi.
We might seem a little irrational, but love is undefined even to this day.
We're both a little odd, but together, I think we could be even;
Even better than anything this world has seen.

So help me test this theorem.
Help me graph this line.
Even if it's only a segment, it will be the most beautiful that I have ever seen.

You are like good poetry
If good were a stronger word
Your words so sophisticated I need a dictionary,
My fingers stumbling through its pages just trying to keep up
You are the Clair de Lune of verses,
Shakespeare would have needed to invent new words just to describe you
I want to study you like one of John Donne's Holy Sonnets.
Reading you for hours just trying to understand
You're made of allegory, allusion, alliteration,
Line after line more complex and beautiful
If beautiful were a stronger word.