"The Longing Landline: A Connection Beyond Words"

I never needed to tell him how I feel.

Because deep down, in the space where hearts communicate without language, he already knows.

Despite never receiving a letter.

Despite never hearing the words from my mouth.

Despite all the poetry I’ve written and never shared,

he still receives the message.

He feels my presence in silence.

He hears my voice in the stillness of early dawn.

He senses my heart in the gaps between conversations.

Like the moon pulling the tides, unseen but unstoppable,

my love moves him.

No explanation required.

No proof necessary.

Because our bond doesn’t survive on interaction—

it thrives on intuition.

When he wakes up and feels a sudden calm,

that’s me.

When he looks up at the sky and smiles for no reason,

that’s me too.

I am the breeze that touches his face when he thinks of me.

I am the echo in the room when he misses someone he can't name.

I am there,

always.

He’s the kind of soul who doesn’t need to be reminded of love—

he recognizes it by energy,

by vibration,

by a frequency only he and I can understand.

Even when I’m silent, I’m still speaking.

I say,

“I miss you”

through the song that suddenly plays on the radio.

“I’m thinking of you”

through a quote he scrolls past online.

“I still care”

when he dreams of us in places we’ve never been.

I know he feels it.

Because I feel him too.

Our connection is not romantic in the traditional sense—

it’s spiritual.

It’s divine.

It’s old.

Older than this lifetime, perhaps.

Maybe even older than time itself.

We are twin flames.

Separated by circumstance,

but united in essence.

We don't speak often.

Maybe we don’t speak at all.

But the silence between us is louder than any conversation.

And within that silence, there’s a landline.

Invisible,

intangible,

but constant.

A longing landline.

It buzzes when I cry.

It rings when he smiles.

It hums with the frequency of shared memories

that never actually happened,

but feel real enough to ache for.

How can you miss someone you never had?

How can you love someone you've barely known?

But that’s the thing with spiritual connections—

they don’t follow earthly rules.

They exist outside time and logic.

Sometimes he hears my voice in birdsong.

Sometimes my laughter rides the waves of rain.

Sometimes I feel him thinking of me at the same moment

I remember him.

That’s the magic.

That’s the thread.

That’s the truth no one else understands but us.

It’s not easy.

Some days, the silence grows heavy.

Some nights, the dreams leave me longing for a reality

where we didn’t miss each other in this lifetime.

But I’ve learned to be grateful—

for even this kind of connection.

Because knowing someone like him exists—

and knowing he feels me in return—

is enough.

No declarations.

No confessions.

No drama.

Just resonance.

Just soul.

I don’t chase.

I don’t beg.

I don’t demand space in his world.

Because I already occupy space in his energy.

And that’s more sacred than proximity.

He and I—

we speak through moments.

A song.

A breeze.

A sudden thought.

A perfectly timed memory.

A smile that arrives without reason.

Every time his heart aches for something he can’t define—

that’s me.

Every time my chest tightens at the thought of him—

that’s the landline ringing.

He always picks up.

He always knows.

And I never even have to dial.

Because love like this?

It doesn’t fade.

It doesn’t demand attention.

It just is.

Constant.

Present.

Beyond flesh and form.

And if this life wasn’t the one where we walk side by side,

then maybe the next one will be.

Or maybe we’re always together—just in ways this world can’t see.

Until then,

I’ll keep sending him the only kind of messages he needs—

the kind that don't need a voice.

Just a soul willing to be felt.

Because he hears me.

He feels me.

And even when the world goes quiet…

our longing landline keeps ringing.