Translation

She had always trusted me...in every word, in every syllable. I had accepted this with such certainty that grief struck hard as I read her entry. It was a sentiment so impossible, so inconceivable, that I could hardly bear to read it. How could she not know the feelings that raged all these months?

It was that tiny chance that caused it. It was the chance that our love would not tolerate the physical. Just as she once risked the tiny possibility I would actually discover her blog, she now risked the tiny chance I would abandon her. If she only knew.

It was something more. We were both somehow foreigners in a strange land. The medium was unfamiliar. There we stood so close to one another, yet those precise moments are forever lost into the unknown. The real was suddenly too real.

The great barrier between us, the flowing bits and packets, our only link. Our words were a tiny thread granting passage. It was the only one. We faced a difficult new language. Could we possibly learn it? Could there be translation? Was this love transferable to the real? If so, I would find out.