Disclaimer: I am operating on 3 hours of sleep. Forgive me if the writing quality is dookie buns.

Last night, I practically pulled an all nighter. I slept at 7am after a lovely conversation with a friend on text. From a purely technical view, texting seems colder than calling: no voice, no intonation, no prosody. But paradoxically, I find texting far more intimate.

Calls demand constant attention. Without it, awkward silences loom. Distractions often pull me away too. But texts are different. Every message is deliberate, written, erased, rewritte, then finally sent. And the act of sending feels both vulnerable and freeing.

Unlike calls, texting allows escape. I can swipe away, scroll insta reels, and disappear from the conversation with nothing more than a read receipt. My conversation partner can too. That’s what makes it special. The conversation only continues if both sides want it to. So when I see the “…” bubble appear, disappear, and finally return as a message, I smile. Because they didn’t have to keep talking if they didn’t want to, but they chose to.

We are so goated twin.