It's suffocating. The sheer concept of time passing by feels almost like a soul to squeeze caged within my chest. The silence resonating within the aether is deafening. It tastes like defeat. I can feel it just on the tip of my tongue ready to spill. My lips are sealed yet my soul is bare writhing in agony the constant question of is the line busy will you call out into the hollow void the warmth of your voice entering the right atrium echoing impatiently until the oceans sigh and I breathe in again reaching new depths. I feel it in my fingertips a phantom memory resurfacing as I trace images and symbols something so strange yet so familiar a gleam of light in my line of vision. There is no answer you have gone missing eight minutes ago
That feeling you experience when you see your message has been read without a response.