But you… you always come back to me. To leave a note letting me know you’re still around, still listening to my thoughts and words reaching out to all, but mainly you. Our virtual flirting leaves us feeling special. Sometimes our reality is darker and colder than the virtual life we lead.
Even though I can’t feel your hand, I know it’s extended towards me, and if I could I’d take it in mine. I’d lead you into my life and introduce you to my characters. We’d sit and talk for hours about where we came from and how we got to this moment. Our hands would occasionally mesh for verification while examining our eyes. It’s the depth we want, to reach what no one has seen, but we both know that will never happen. Inflated pride over the years prevents such openness, yet we yearn for that kind of freedom.
I reach for your cheek stroking it softly as the lines iron out. Your smile asks me to dance; our lips rest a breath apart, waiting to perform our rendition of a tango. We look at one another knowing this isn’t the true person we created in our minds; fragments of a sentence that ends with a question mark. Should such a fragment linger to change chance when closure doesn’t exist?
My eyes close waiting for the answer. Finally I open them, you’re…