I hate texting.
I hate those monosyllable replies; I hate the long drawn out conversations. I hate the cold, metal voice I use in my head to read messages that should be said with feeling, emotion, joy. I hate waiting; I hate waiting for a "yes" or a "no" or an "I love you." I hate it when a message doesn't come, when all you want is a sign that the person you're thinking of is thinking of you as well.
More than anything, however, I hate how somehow a text becomes a replacement for your arms; for the feeling of your breath on my neck, your hands in my hair, the whisper of a smile against my skin. I want your voice sleepily wishing me goodnight with your body intertwined with mine rather than reading "Night!" on an artificially bright screen. "i luv ya," is not the same as the rich, husky "I love you," I hear as my eyes flutter shut. I hate the distance of a screen; the way you are so close, and yet so much further away than you ever have been before.
I hate texting-
but not so much as I hate you not being here.