The sound an email makes after it travels through the complicated web and as it lands into my phone. That specialized tone I've set for emails and nothing else. That sound that seems hardwired to those parts of my brain that issue the command for adrenaline to pour into my blood. The sound an email makes has the ability to send my heart racing and pounding in my chest. My body shakes in response and my heart does triple its usual work.
A slab of contradicting feelings slams into my chest and fills me to the brim. One side urges me to check it, check the email, we're dying to know. The other side cowers and begs that we're not ready. I ignore both voices and reach my hand out to my phone. I don't do it because I'm brave, or because I've listened to the side that's dying to know. I do it on autopilot. Your phone makes a sound. You check it.
My shaky fingers click the tiny icon for emails, I click inbox with my heart in my throat. And it says iTunes, or Twitter, or Paypal. It doesn't really matter what it says, because my mind reads it as unimportant, doesn't matter -not it. It's not the email that decides the rest of my life. It's not the email my adrenaline was released for. It's still not the one.
A slab of contradicting feelings slams into my chest and fills me to the brim. One side urges me to check it, check the email, we're dying to know. The other side cowers and begs that we're not ready. I ignore both voices and reach my hand out to my phone. I don't do it because I'm brave, or because I've listened to the side that's dying to know. I do it on autopilot. Your phone makes a sound. You check it.
My shaky fingers click the tiny icon for emails, I click inbox with my heart in my throat. And it says iTunes, or Twitter, or Paypal. It doesn't really matter what it says, because my mind reads it as unimportant, doesn't matter -not it. It's not the email that decides the rest of my life. It's not the email my adrenaline was released for. It's still not the one.
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