You’re just there.
Like a random person sitting across the bar,
staring for hours but not engaging,
only difference is you and I are no strangers.
But the fruit must be pleasant to the eye
because you keep coming back like bees to a hive.
Still I can’t help but wonder: is it the content galore
(you don’t show support for) or am I the subject
you want to explore?
Interesting people tend to trigger others’
inquisitiveness, also known as nosiness,
and I’m flattered, but I’m tired.
What’s in it for me?
I don’t always get to see who you’d be
while everybody else has a key
to a world I’m only allowed to see
from the back seat.
This brings me to the biggest puzzle: texts.
You can’t be busy, out of range, nor dead
when you just devoted the past five minutes
showing unconditional love to some strangers
on the internet.
I can almost see you doom-scrolling
to some celebrity’s page, ignoring real
life’s connections, fading away at each stage.
Your actual friends could benefit from that energy,
the kind of support you struggle to show genuinely.
Life’s busy, I expect no immediacy
but life’s short, I expect constancy.
