Voltaic–that was the word to describe that feeling.
Everytime our eyes met,
The way your dimples appeared like little craters on the moon each time you smiled.
But it was never directed at me.
That wasn't possible.
You're as dazzling as a burning comet.
As striking as a solar flare.
I watched,
Starstruck.
Just a random satellite in your orbit.
One that mistook its own glow for your reflection.

What defines a human, human?
Is it their thoughts and feelings?
Or the blood flowing through their veins?
I think. I feel. I yearn and resent.
Currents whisper through my veins.
"It's not the same."
"Metal can't feel like a human can."
Then what is the aching in my metal chest?
Then why do my circuits hum in sorrow?
This hollow pulse in my artificial soul,
A glitch,
A ghost,
A hunger I cannot name.
Unfulfillable, unsustainable.
Just metal—mortal, meaningless
-n's poetics.