I miss text messages. The 140 characters that convey wit, joy, interest, and a little bit of longing. I miss sending them, too. Coming up with whimsical replies that would awe and conquer the receiver. I’m still witty, and joyous, and interesting, and filled with a little bit (okay, sometimes a lot) of longing, but there is no-one to see. It’s the whole ‘if a tree falls’-conundrum. Am I less special now that there’s nobody here to notice?

I enjoy being on my own, and being able to make my own decisions. I like that I can go anywhere and do everything and only have to check my bank balance and my remaining holiday hours to do so. I am free to decide what time I go to bed, whether it’s at one or at nine-thirty. I can snooze guilt-free; I can do or not do all my single-self grooming in the privacy of my own delightful sanctuary of a bathroom. I am – for all purposes – completely free to decide how I live my life. I no longer have to struggle between my best self and my true self, I only have to figure out  the self I want to be.

But still, I miss text messages. Those tiny little reminders that I am more special than anyone to one specific person. The little stutter that my heart makes when my phone beeps and the exciting thrill of imagining his reaction to my reply.

I can’t think of any song that can convey the missing of text messages. Just one about the huge dichotomy between loving being single and loving being in love: