The Glow of Absence

We carry our own suns now. Small, rectangular, cold to the touch. They pull us away from the street, from the wind, from the person standing only a breath away.

We are here. But we are also elsewhere.

There is a weight to this distance. A quiet hunger for a connection that does not require a screen. We look down, searching for something, while the world waits in the periphery, patient and vast. The light from the device washes over the face, a pale mask. It hides more than it reveals.

Is it possible to be present when we are already gone?

What remains when the screen goes dark?