He didn’t know which ailed him more… the extent to which he missed her? Or the knowledge that she was unaware of his pangs of longing. His doting and affection were wasted for she did not reciprocate. He sat there staring at his screen, constantly hitting the refresh button. Hoping for that magicnumber to appear next to the word “Inbox”; for her name to appear on his screen. A reply to his countless e-mails. Words that to her were absolutely neutral, day-to-day, normal… but to him would mean everything. Just a few short lines to reassure him, to let him know that she was OK, so he could exhale once again.
He suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath. He got up upset, kicking the computer chair towards the desk. It glided across the floor before the harsh collision. Upset at his own anger he went to fix a cup of coffee. He returned moments later the cup of steaming dark rich liquid in his hand. He eyed the monitor from a distance, wondering if he should approach. As if he could resist? There he was, seated again. A message appears at the corner of his screen, he’s got mail. His heart soars. He hurries to read it. To his disappointment it isn’t from her. His heart sinks. The work related e-mail is disregarded. He vows to get over her. To overcome his obsession. To finally give in to the fact that she doesn’t care, that to her he doesn’t exist.
He hits the “Compose” button, only to send yet another e-mail, never to be replied to by her.