"You there?"

Two syllables. They drop off the tongue, easy as anything. Two small, innocent words. But they're not, are they?

They're laced with so much meaning, so much promise. And they say so much in so little time. The words sound like a whisper in the dark, one that assumes your presence, almost to the point where the question is rhetorical. "You there?" says, "This is where I last saw you, and I assume you're still here. You are, aren't you?" It's almost as if the words reference an age-old contract, reminding you that you have a duty you have sworn to perform, one you're neglecting, because the question needs to be asked.

Perhaps I'm just losing my mind, reading far too much into what is actually a perfectly innocent question. All I know is, for the first time in a long time, as an answer to the question, I would really like not to be.