in the silence in my room
the methodical deliberation of fingers
compile the tacit exchange between you and me,
soundlessly beating across a net of stars and dreams,
meeting you in my half-comatose slumber
in a place that only sort of exists.
I glimpse through the window,
not your countenance,
but the words I would verbalize
if you were truly here.
mere text only simplifies the emotion
complicating mood making me speechless.
no matter how infuriated,
sound of my fingers on the keys
try to convey everything,
and hide it too, all at the same time.
the jumbled words dance around
and try to reach you and touch your soul
across this vast electronic chasm
"yet why do I feel sadness seep through me?"