and I fell in love with her fingertips

as they slash and slash the keyboard
with exact precision again
and again
and again

six hours later, still typing away.

and they've caught my attention
not simply because they belong to you,
but because the clicks wake me up at night,
your eyes hitting the screen haunts me,
keeps me awake

because

I know they are reading in-between
the lines, looking past the font and colors
and looking into me, or at least looking as far
as I let her. but in time I've let her in
too much to shut her out,
and I wouldn't change a thing,
while I'm sure she would.

We speak a language of friendship,
but my speech is so much more complex,
so much more.

I fell in love with her fingertips,
but I wonder if she read into it
or saw into me
and figured it out herself.