My postmodern friend

You're always there but never quite here. Letters flow through your veins as you breath rhetoric; your heart an amalgam of emojis

I sit... waiting... watching... ... anticipating the response... My solitude satiated with interaction, I'm no longer sure if I am ever alone.

And I wonder... what makes you different from the other skeletons of syntax what separates you from the screen at which I stare in a parallel reality, what significance can conversation ever bear

Perhaps all either of us desire is words to fill the silence.