Existence

She doesn't exist in this world, only beyond the surface of the cold screen. She doesn't exist. And I hate that I compare her to all beings when put to test. How crude and tedious they become, and how she would silently suffer in isolation. But she's not real; I am yet to convince myself. I need her, but she's of my own creation, I give her the pulse, the silence in which she mesmerizes me. I make her tragic, and alluring but I can't feel her warmth. Only blankly stare where she resides. Beyond the screen. Inside my imaginations.