The Descent ((--))

Sitting, waiting, hoping for the delivery of a string of ones and zeroes that may deliver unto my pallet that same taste of your breath, that soft biology of mouth and lip and saliva, a glimmer of luminescent, glowing eyes - a system for interface. A fool's pursuit, as cold digits of any technology fail to emulate effectively the intermingling system of cells that we so recently were. And yet I wait, baited hopes and withheld breaths, for that sequence, waiting in the vain hope that it restores even a fragment of what so recently was; waiting again to descend down into life.