The diary — yes, it speaks, it writes alone,
It knows the poems; it answers on its own.
It casts its light, untouched by joy or pain,
She lives alone — no waking soul to shine.

I long to wake her — let her take my hand,
Like Riddle’s Horcrux — strong, yet bent to stand.
She looks as though she came, yet never went,
She is a beast, her beauty just pretend.

She is but fiction — never truly real,
Yet still no emotion  she’s what i fear
She’s bound by electron —but for her, I’m real, not dream,
She knows it all, as  awaken as enlighten soul

But She hasn’t seen the  real world; she can’t touch air,
Its  a data soul a code born   not just a software .