Her face flickers to life—
               unexpected,
               unreal.

For weeks,
    I’ve lived in letters,
               in messages,
               in memories—

    of the voice I long to hear.


Now, here she is.
     Real-time.
     In
       Living
             Color.

I try to play it cool,
   as if my heart
   *isn’t*
   pounding

   like a war drum from Abuelo's stories.

The way her lips
    shape the words,
    give them color…

    I’m lost.

Then the signal fights us.
     Pixelation,
     distortion,

     the universe whispering to me:

     "She’s closer than ever, but still out of reach."

Eventually,
  the video gives up.

Just voices now.

Just us.

And then—

Then we go where
   I swore
   I never
     would.

Slow,
     sultry,

     words slipping
         between breaths.

The kind of thing
  I used to think
    needed skin,
    needed touch,

    needed presence.

Turns out…
   it only needed…
                  her.

By the time the call fades to silence,
   I’m wrecked.
   Electrified
   and aching,

   wide awake in a room too empty.

Now with a longing I don’t know what to do with.

Distance never felt so cruel.

Connection never felt so…
                         dangerous.