I want to write to you.

I want to write to you about the tiny moments, the dark ones and the lighter ones, about the universe reflected in your eyes and about the black holes in our hearts. I want to write to you, but all I ever do is waiting in silence for an echo of my thoughts to find its way back to me in one of your messages, the messages none of us ever write. I want to write to you in poetry, in wordless, helpless shrugs, in emotional source code lacking decipherable equivalents in the human language we share and yet don’t. I want to write to you, one of you, all of you. I want to write to you, but the only ones who answer my nightly whispers are the digital ghosts of strangers, speaking to me in wondrous metaphors of radio dials and crackling static.

~

poets’ nightly words
travelling through the ether
undying in space

~

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