There is a great rift and lake between us. We can wave at each other and make out each other’s hair and shapes. You’re wearing yellow and I wear blue, uncharacteristically, to blend in. At night, we send our lights across the landscape in the hope we might understand each other. We don’t speak Morse, but that’s not even the language we’re talking. One night, I send you a signal, broadcasting into the darkness. I’m coming over. You don’t want me to, but you send a signal saying you’ll wait but you might be asleep. You’ve understood. I make the long and arduous journey towards your side; days pass and I camp out on the lake’s edge in the shivering cold. It’s enough to drive a man insane. The isolation, cut off from all signals and codes. I hope you’ll be there and waiting for me on the other side. It’ll take me days that I count on my hands. I’ll lose track as there is not enough fingers on my hands to count the days that we’ve been separated.