I can sit alone, staring into a blue screen, filled with pleasant images --
flickering faster and faster and faster, trying to keep up with the ever
adapting collective brain of society. This box is supposed to make
me happy? Its entire purpose is to bring me pleasure, but it doesn't
project a warm body next to mine, pressed against me under a
blanket. It doesn't take the brokenness away. It doesn't fix my soul,
which aches for someone to come out of the bedroom with morning
hair and droopy eyes. I need to share the smell of coffee with
somebody.


1.21.2000

01/21/2000

Posted on 02/20/2009
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