Her pixels are pretty

I wait all day to visit the girl of my dreams who lives on a plastic screen, and cuts in and out with the shitty signal of my wifi.

Her pixels are pretty… flawless, her pixels show me a new memory of what she is.. how she looks. Her voice, so sharp.. like lightning.. or a fierce reproduction of her audio frequencies converted using a modulating frequency and brought to my ear like lightning…
Her face looks like an NES game.. and her body is like plastic wrap.
If only I could touch her pixels…
I hold her in my hand sometimes and listen to her breathe. Her soothing voice reminds my soul, she never went away. She lives an inch away from me, but she tells me we’re far apart…
This bond we share is held together by signals, wires, cables, trust, and sleep deprivation.