A 100-word Speed-Poem

My dusty mailbox has a letter,
an actual letter not the usual newsletter,
With my name she sprung like a tinderbox,
She wanted a hand, I looked closely if it was a hoax.

It could be a she, just from her name,
or someone just messing around like a game,
My new friend only exists through zeroes and ones,
But yet I was glad, because she could be anyone.

Anyone is just about someone from everyone,
it could be the mate next door,
or someone from beyond ashore,
and here I shall patiently wait,
To let it unwind itself, fate.

Ariv Chelvam
October 15, 2017