Others have it worse, but it's tough not to ache for her.
Virtual methods of communication fail in comparison to the human kind.
They're beginning to frustrate.
As if continually teased with the inferior, the untruth, my instincts rebel.
"It cannot be my love. I cannot see her eyes. There is no texture to her skin. Her voice is not all her own."
I guess there are worse things.
Yah-willing, this is all temporary anyway.
What a reunion we'll soon enjoy!
Lovesick, I wait.
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