She types..
all day long.
A screen glowing
creating a life of it's own.
People.. thousands of them
all, with a need, looking for
the fantasy they *know* will make them feel whole.
Never dreaming that their whole life begins,
when the computer shut downs.
She reads, they think she listens
but she knows that sound is not silent.
That pain and joy, regrets, love, and humor,
all conveyed in type, is real in another place,
another time.
Praying that people will understand that sitting
typing one handed,
Is not the answer to their sorrows, but an expression
of the disappointments they've had
Knowing...the sadness
Knowing the pain..
Knowing the isolation that never stops
until she stops typing.