We are the answer-machine addicts, the ringtone worshipers who pray and don't receive an answer. We are the ones who contemplate calling, just to hear your voice but don't. We are the ones whose hearts soar when their phones vibrate and whose hearts sink to their stomachs when they realise that it's only O2 telling us about our monthly bonuses. We are the ones who watch the time change on the screens of our worn down Nokias with worn down keys.  We are the ones who don't switch off our phones for days on end. We are the ones you didn't call.
        "What does "x" equal, Shai?" We are the ones who can't concentrate in maths because all we can think about is you. We are the daydreamers, the girls who simply can't help but stare out the window, biting the end of their pencils, playing with their hair, missing you and you can find us wandering the corridors of high schools worldwide.
        "I don't know, Mr Fizgerald." We are the hopeless, the helpless, we are the ones who just don't know.
        "Maybe you should come back down to Earth then." Easier said than done, Sir.