Poetry

The Monologue

Can I touch you?

If I reach out, will I feel

your skin against my fingertips,

the loose strands of your hair

tickling my wrist?

Will your breath ebb out from your lips

in the cold air,

if you speak to me?

Are you real?

Really, truly real?

I’ve seen you so many times,

everyday, in fact,

and you always catch my gaze,

our eyes meeting

through the glass.

If I cut myself,

will you bleed too?

Don’t worry, I won’t.

I’m better now.

But I still need to know.

Tell me…please?