Is it conceivable to love someone you never met, conversed with or even seen their face? Can such love be real and here I am stretching the imagination to every sensible definition of real? In all probabilities you would say no; probably not as far as sensible people go. Yet I claim to have found such love. In her words I find the comfort I do not find in my own, yet they are the same, or similar; familiar to an extent which I cannot ignore. She is the same. Alike as like could ever be, painted upon a starless sky: a dream in light or darkness regardless of day or night. She conveys me, but unfortunately will never know me. I remain in hiding, unable to come forward plainly. If you see her, tell her so: there once was a man who loved you; he wanted more but alas in this life he could not, not gather strength to pursue