Algorithm of the Heart

Swipe left.

Swipe right.

I’m panning for gold in a river of faces—

profiles polished to a gleam,

words trimmed down to sell the dream.

I read their bios,

watch their smiles perform sincerity,

and still—

none of it explains who they are.

At least the holy ones confess the sin:

they know it’s a lie,

but a holy lie,

a small fiction in the name of connection.

How do I know a person

without hearing their laugh

spill into a room,

without watching how they look

at a stray cat or a falling leaf?

There has to be a better way,

some language more human

than thumbs and pixels.

Instead—

I find myself lost in the glitch:

implementation, exasperation,

rejection,

and confusion.

Love reduced to an interface—

and me, still trying

to swipe my way

into something real.