The emerald circle

I examine the minuscule emerald circle that hangs slightly beside his portrait.
My fingers try to move around it and above it.
But they fail to click.
I don’t know how many seconds have passed.
Has it been minutes? Hours?
This staring contest with the emerald circle gets tougher. My hands shiver at the thought of his name popping out of my chat box. I try to get some air to free myself. My feet seem to know my signals because I noticed that I’m already standing up. One foot in front of the other, I tell myself.  Don’t let a green dot take over your feelings. Keep your shit together.
Ding.
I let out a squeal. I fail to notice my excitement until I find myself in front of my screen again. Is he the one who sent me a message? What would I do if it’s him? Would he say hi? Would I greet him back if he does?
A name pops out of the bottom right corner. My heartbeat goes faster and my throat becomes dry. I remember one time I saw him walking in my direction. His eyes were so focused, always calculating. When he passed me by, I froze. It’s not every day the hem of our shirts brush against each other.
That was on the same level of my feelings now.
I glance at the name.
I feel like I’ve been ripped apart to many pieces. I shake my head. I suddenly become nauseous. I touch my left palm to make sure I’m still alive. I’m OK, am I not? I’m not empty, but I do feel like something’s missing.
No,
It’s not his name.
I remember I shouldn’t have had feelings for him in the first place. This is an odd mixture, after all. I’m just going to continue my ephemeral catastrophe. That’s the only thing I’m capable of when it comes to him; to look at his name on my screen and hope that he’ll say something to me. But obviously, he never does. I’m so disturbingly pathetic.
The emerald circle fades beside his name.
I realize I’ve been observing for too long, and now is the time to stop. I feel a twinge in my pulmonary muscles as his name vanishes. He logged out without saying anything to me. I guess I’m just not that important to him.
Never was, never will.

(artwork by Andrej Mashkovtsev)

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