Zoomed Out

I’m alone in the room, trying to connect.

"Hey, can you hear me?" I watch you adjust your headset,

"I think you're muted," I say, leaning forward, voice louder now.

You look right through me. So I try again. "What I really need to fix is –"

A yawn swallows your face. I stop, deflated, then start again.

You interrupt, "I need to refill my water."

Damn, lag. "Can it wait? I need to say this!"

You laugh at something unseen, your focus drifting miles away.

My frustration boils over. "Can you hear me!?"

You glance back, your smile faltering for a moment. "Sorry, what was that?"

Finally, your sacred attention. Relief surges. I open my mouth, ready –

"Actually, hold on. Let me take care of this."

My heart sinks.

It wasn’t lag. There was no screen.

I’m staring at you, but we’re worlds apart.

Muted in every way that matters.