The immigrant

4. The computer screen

The computer screen blinks at me

Dusty keys touched by many hands

As if inviting me

Studying my reflection

Wondering if he has replied

I think about him often

Long lost and close

I could finally speak to him

Forever it seems he was distant

Now I could touch him again

Hold him in my arms

To tell him that I love him

But what will he think of me?

Would he be dissapointed?

Unable to protect his mum

A shell of myself

Unwanting for pity or shame

I cannot bear to look

Or be looked at

Not today or any day…

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