Applesauce Text

Even though I know I shouldn't, I do.
I text.
My curiosity has gotten the better of me, and I feel just so...
Lonely.

The text is sent. Something silly with momentary meaning.
It doesn't matter what I say, just something to let him know I'm thinking of him.

Or let me feel less lonely.

Now it is just about waiting for the return text.

It comes.

The same type of empty reply we both are accustomed to expect.
But a way to communicate, nevertheless.

I miss you.

That is all we can muster.
Our hearts have been churned to an applesauce consistency.
Thick, mushy.

Our appetite is briefly satiated.