Convention

I'm sorry that your fingers became accustomed to typing
And that you believed I was merely a conglomeration of pixels
near a gray box, awaiting dialogue.
But you swore these digital conversations imbued you with hard, plastic confidence.
Are a colon and parenthesis happiness?

I'm sorry that your fingers became accustomed to typing
And that the tightening of your arms around my frame was unpleasant
But you hugged me as though you forgot the glowing name on your screen had a heartbeat.





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