Christmas Eve, I’m lit by screen glow and tree lights, two kinds of fake warmth, both flickering when your typing stops.

We started as late night messages, usernames, little jokes that felt like fingers brushing through glass, and I got addicted to the almost.

I learned your sleep schedule from timestamps, learned your laugh from voice notes, learned your face from pixels that never held me back.

But lately your replies come spaced out like snowfall, pretty from far, cruel up close, and I’m counting minutes like they owe me answers.

I type “are we real,” delete it, type “I miss you,” delete it, because I don’t want to sound like a stranger begging a stranger.

Your read receipt lands, then silence, and it’s wild how a small blue word can make a whole chest feel abandoned.

Outside, couples walk hand in hand, inside, I’m holding a phone like it’s a promise that forgot how to keep itself.

Distance isn’t miles.

It’s the pause after you read me.

We used to dream in detail, you said “one day, that café,” the one with the flickering sign, the bench that catches snow like it’s saving secrets.

We picked a date like it was a spell, kept missing it, life got loud, money got tight, courage got shy, and the waiting turned sacred then sour.

I replay our first messages, the thirsty honest ones, the careful ones after, the way we circled the word love like it could bite.

Late nights, blue lights, heart racing, phone shaking, long texts, wrong time zones, small fights, soft fixes, missed trains, rain stains.

“u up,” “i’m up,” “i want you,” “prove it,” “say it,” “i mean it,” then silence, then “sorry,” then me pretending it didn’t cut deep.

I don’t need constant, I need consistent, I need you to meet me where our story said it would finally become skin and breath.

Because I’m tired of wanting someone I’ve never held, tired of building a future out of signal bars and hope.

Come meet me in the real, let the screen stop being a wall.

I’ve been waiting in your words, now I need you in my arms.

Christmas Eve, don’t let us fade into “almost.”

Say yes, then show up, I’m right here, I’m ready.

I know I went quiet, I got scared, it started feeling too big for a phone.

I felt you slipping, and I kept refreshing like I could reload a person.

I want you, I do, I just hate how waiting makes me doubt everything.

The waiting made me sharp, like every “seen” was a test I didn’t study for.

I don’t want to lose this before we even touch, that would be tragic.

Then don’t let it stay digital, let’s stop living in drafts.

Okay, real answer, I miss you, I want to finally meet you.

Say where, say when, say it like you mean it.

Time moves weird when love lives online.

Days feel like years, then hours disappear.

I’m under Christmas lights, still winter inside.

But your voice just warmed the air.

I’m staring at the café address we saved, like it’s a doorway, like it’s proof we weren’t just entertainment for lonely nights.

I remember the first time you called me “mine” in a voice note, and my whole body believed it, even with oceans of doubt in between.

I’m scared you’ll never come, scared you’ll come and we won’t match, scared the fantasy will die in daylight, scared I already love you anyway.

I can’t keep loving a loading icon, I need you in front of me, I need the truth in real air, I’m done bleeding into a screen.

I waited, I worked, I hoped, I held back, I stayed up, I saved money, I kept faith, I kept receipts, I kept the thread alive.

I don’t want perfect, I want present, I want one brave step that turns all this wanting into something we can actually hold.

And after the roar, my voice drops small and honest, I still choose you, if you show up.

I’m outside the café, the flickering sign, the bench we talked about, snow in my hair, hands shaking.

I’m here, I see you, you’re real, I’m leaving the phone in my pocket.

I’m sorry I made you wait in silence, I’m not running tonight.

Then come closer, let’s make the first chapter physical.

Silent night, finally real.