Your eyes, they seem to wander in time and space
as you stare upon those set of characters
encoded in a frame brilliant lights and squiggly lines of green and red.
Your voice, soundingly outlandish when you speak, catches my ears.
Your gentle yet aloof behavior amuses me.
You are this yet that—something that I can easily see yet not grasp.
You are cold, yet hot. You are here, but not.
I wonder how to call you. I wonder how to befriend you.
You seem indifferent with anything and everything that happens around you.
You are the paradox of this atmosphere.
The oxymoron of this milieu.
The irony of my interest—something I like, but not want.