This half-existence is a curious thing.
There is the world of words, and the world of flesh,
And ne'er the twain shall meet,
And yet it is so simple to introduce
These fantasies of shared space.
The day-night terminator journeys for hours,
Sweeping from you to me and back to you,
But our hearts are green and yellow and blue
And we live together in asterisks and italics.
Our meeting is a paradox,
Equally an impossibility and an inevitability,
The first-ever encounter
Of those only ever separated by sleep and circumstance
To begin with.
We are the nature of things, as is the world between us--
--E pur si muove.
There are hands on the other end of the keyboard,
No matter how desperately we detach ourselves.
The convergence of us is as far away as you,
And yet, in time, any space can be traveled
To shed this middleman of wires,
Finally free of the latency of so many miles.