I’d resorted to using a website
For lack of natural introductions,
(a curse of a more modern age).
In my naïveté, I thought it more honest,
A chance for virtual reciprocation,
or, where a tangible love could bloom.
So, after searching for the right date site
(and this took much procrastination!)
I found one with feasible Connections,
And that’s when I found you.
I’d shilly-shallied before I ‘waved’
(I felt mechanical in my deliberations)
Heart stomping: ‘This? Antithesis of romance!’
I’d ruled out the sexagenarian,
He had Viagra, but owned no notion
Of what is to be Christian.
And the posh man with the Porsche,
(He earned 70K, and had just won a promotion)
But challenged my personal belief in creation.
You: the frankness of your emails wooed me,
(and, you were blasé about your diction)
You had me, when you texted me in the afternoon.
But then, on iMessage you confused me;
Silence. A sudden loss of basic communication.
Should I Skype you, to find you? Or Vibre, or Text?
No heart-full words on WhatsApp, and we’d not Facebooked.
Oh! Remember when we had one phone?
When there was just one answer machine?
The red light either blinked, or it didn’t.
We have a plethora of forms for expression
In twenty first C – your silence scares me,
I really like you. But, you’re just not into me.
(Inspired by the film, ‘He’s just not that into you’)
Jen had bought the Kit Kat and a cuppa with her last pennies. She’d fancied chocolate to go with her peaceful read.
He hadn’t asked if he could sit in front of her, but when he’d opened the wrapper and taken a finger of chocolate, she’d seen red. She’d carefully put her bookmark back in her book and placed it in her bag. She’d then taken the three remaining chocolate fingers and stuffed them in her mouth. Her tea was still hot; she’d scalded the roof of her mouth.
The only problem was, when she got home, she found her Kit Kat at the bottom of her bag.