Trapped somewhere between depression and heartache a man lies in wait. Alone and afraid a woman thinks that no man will ever look at her that way she so desires. From their respective computers they wade through the endless sea of scam artists, one-night-standers, so-called married people, and others who feed off the loneliness of the human condition. Frustrated, tired, and jaded it would seem this search is futile to our respective persons. They ask themselves, ?Is there another for I??

Or is it that these boxes of wires, bits of doped silicone, and electricity cannot express the people we really are; Alive, vital, and loving? It may be that these perfect effort devices cannot capture the essence of life. Nor would it be reasonable to expect such. If insanity is the act of doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results then I am insane thinking that this computer will help expedite my search for lasting meaningful love.

We all have an ideal of what we desire. Whether that is someone tall, short, skinny, fat, smart, dumb, et cetera. It doesn?t seem to matter really as love is blind. Love is completely sightless to flaws of personality, errors in judgment, and real compatibility. In love, filled with feel-good hormones we feel as if we soar above everything. How sad that it never seems to last.

In front of the monitor I gaze into the screen at my writing. For a moment I catch a reflection of my own image in the glass. Distorted and bizarre I stare back at myself. I wonder if I am behaving like the parakeet with a mirror in its cage chirping at itself mindlessly. Hoping for a cogent response alas receiving none but the fragments of mine own desires, hopes, dreams, and longing for real love.

Panna