One picture, that’s all I have.
Barely enough to identify her from Eve.
But I know from what I have seen,
That she is all I need.
Drawn out anxiously awaited replies,
Endless time spent picking my words,
Avoiding any slip that will cause her to log out and leave.
Black text on a white screen shouldn't mean this much to me.
But I analyse and re-analyse her words etched into the pages of internet history religiously.
Every sentence read in ‘she loves me, she loves me not’.
I do this utterly uncertain as to who she is.
Her mystique has possessed me.
For all I know she’s sat next to me.
But I do know we’re one in the same;
Two twenty-first century keyboard lovers.