~*~*this is for my bean*~*~
I reach out my finger
what do i touch?
certainly isnt the warmth of your cheeks that always appear to be flushed
It isnt your hair, which must be so soft
Or your eye lid that flutters when you drift off
I focus my eyes
what do i see?
not the twinkle in your eyes you get
when you're talking to me
i dont see your outfit, which is cute like a doll's
or your trembling hands when you want to withdraw
I actually feel the screen of a computer
the glass cold to the touch
it rises like a wall
that only exists
to remind me that
we are physically
m i l e s
a w a y
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
