Last Seen

“How long has it been?”, I voice as I divert my attention to the top of my screen,
The impossibly loud ticking of my watch tolls your absence, admittedly unforeseen,
Seeing as we’ve discussed this in brevity and at length, I thought you would be kind enough to meet me in between,
But perhaps I continue to dream of things that remain to have been,
No longer as pressing, hardly as compelling, uncharacteristically dulled by the rough edges of your fast-paced living.

I sit at home, brooding,
It is probably unhealthy to be this sullen, at least according to these health magazines I’ve now found myself browsing,
But the thinking is more interesting than they are, it feels like something to keep me busy, what with all the waiting,
I, from time to time (code for ALL THE TIME), check in,
and despite the pain of that “online”, ever so quick to float in,
along with the two ticks signifying your receipt,
My teeth I grit, the “back” button I hit, and move on as if I saw none of it,
But alas, what a smoker’s habit-
Stay tuned for all of two minutes to witness a live repeat…

In such a milieu, time on my hands and hardly anything to do but you;
it must be hard not to perceive yourself as doted on,
Maybe I come off like a gendarme, giving a Parisian pickpocket a knock with my baton,
In such a case, would not the thief, having dropped his pickings, curse me for having ‘forced his hand’?
Well, I most certainly feel like my efforts have a similar effect of repulsion,
Perhaps over time you have grown weary of me, my charm now worn, worthy of only a lazy yawn.

I have shown you rather emphatic attention,
Opening the doors to my heart to you felt like a divine calling, a voice to hearken to from beyond,
This attestation,
A dictum from a victim*
(*-potentially just a confused recipient of too much time to count sightings on apps for communication)
is probably the most overt confession since the days a Twitter follower requested a followback via a mention.

But what more can be done? When the world goes silent, there are no voices to listen to but your own,
Those you wished would share in your soliloquy are too lost to tell you they’re gone,
Too engaged to realise you initiated conversation seeking just a slice of their divided attention.

Perhaps I speak in a voice too raucous,
Call me wrongheaded, needy, omnipresent and clingy, a fuss,
But what happened to the time when that was both of us?
Is this question the difference between a relationship bust and one that makes it through the test of life with a pass?
Is there no deus ex machina to belie my sole role as the more attached being?
Oh wait, let me just consult your Last Seen…

Yours until “today at 00:00”,

Evans Mbora Campbell.

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