You hear the alert.You see the banner slide onto your screen.Before your eyes focus enough to read the name of the sender, you can tell:Too many letters.The wrong letters.The wrong sender.It's not him.And you sit there, feeling this thing inside you—the acidic hunger, the hollow ache.the him-shaped hole.***—Another alert. But it's not him.You go on about your day.About your week. About your month.You fill your life with things.With twitter. With tumblr.With facebook, and xtube, and goodreads.Especially goodreads.Because if you don't, there's nothing between you and that void. That pathetic need.Want him. Want him to want me.***Alerts come.Hope flares in the dark, in the echoing vastness inside you—But it's not him.It's never him....until one day it is.