Based on a true story
Many of my most meaningful relationships
have been typed rather than said,
hunted and pecked over typewriter keys by strangers
who looked into themselves and somehow saw me,
clicked in from cubicles during slow moments,
thumbed across the oily, feely, rubbed-away pads of cell phones,
as almost-mine as
your cooking smells,
familial and understood
but not shared,
a door way in this place where we both
pay for space and
are most ourselves.
When we write,
we’re who we want to be
considered to perfection
edited to manipulation
parallel to profundity.
We’re valid as our daily affirmations.
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