Okay, I admit:
Sometimes I wonder if one of these bloggers is actually you.
If the poetry in my reader is coming from your hands, your mind,
this person that I see almost daily
who might have a different life online.
Especially when I see a piece I particularly like-
I wonder how it’d be to know that it was from you… about me…
Sometimes I try to imagine how I’d react if you commented.
If you remembered the web address from the bottom of that email I let you read and decided to announce yourself.
What you’d say.
How I’d respond.
Do I want you to, though?
Do I want to look at you tomorrow
with the knowledge that you know
what goes on in my head?
What if you’re reading this?
What if you commented?
I have an almost-paranoid hyperactive imagination.
That would be part of the side effects I didn’t read when I signed up to take this experimental medicine called Writing.