He’s sitting right beside me.
He’s staying far away.
It doesn’t make a difference
Not to me, not either way.
No matter what it’s distance.
Distance from my heart, my fingertips, and love.
Presence isn’t conditional.
Shouldn’t be conditional.
Who the fuck thought it should be an option?
Is it really an option?
Do we actually have the option of checking out of this life,
Or are we really opting out life altogether?
The pleasure and pain, annoyances and uplifts.
Resigned to checking our phone for a dribble of affection
Detached from the real life sitting right next to us, texting us that sad dribble and
Mistakenly believing it can substitute for a touch
A taste, your fingers laced together with mine
Our souls meeting through our bodies, through our eyes.
Souls can meet through eyes.
It’s true, I know, that my soul can see yours in many ways
But I don’t want a substitute.
Not at all.
But that’s our world, our lives our lot.
To marvel at the real as if something else exists.
Now contains real sugar,
A real tree in the office,
With real cream,
If it wasn’t real before just what was it?
A simulation, a substitute
It’s a paradox really.
That an engineered substance would be easier,
Cheaper to make than the real thing.
Cheaper. Easier. Less than.
And consummately toxic.
Yet we prefer it.
Or have we been deceived?
Are we unaware?
Will we one day have to beg for a real touch?
A real hug, an actual kiss.
A moment of real time face to face? *Gasp*
Will we marvel at actual time spent with the ones we love?
Or are we already there.
No, that didn’t need a question mark.
We are already there.
I already know my answer.