Processing

Another day goes by, another page turns blank. You're still gone, I'm still here.
I see crumbs of your existence, small footsteps of your walk here and there, pictures posted, a couple of blue sticks telling me you know.
We live this pathetic interaction where nobody is never actually gone, a sweet perk of virtual goodbyes on the technology era.
We bleed behind smiley photographs, everyone knows and nobody cares.
I'm glued to this luminous rectangle of information, fighting the crave to contact you. And where are you?
There's a tiny creature screaming, its loudest voice a little less than a whisper. It says that maybe you are another bleeding soul behind your laughs, that maybe you miss me just as much as I miss you and you're there right now just waiting for me to call. This creature is called Hope, but I learned long ago not to listen.