I wrote a poem once about this concept. Being a vulnerable nerd now to share it. Don't actually read this though
If this was 1822 I’d call across green seas for you, moaning my love in a solemn, dark, torrential note, like the light of the moon was curated by you.
It is 2020, regretfully. I could call across cell towers or the inky black cords bridging the world at the depths of the ocean because I think that’s the internet.
In the night every night you won’t hear it but they’re calling, probably transmitting blurry photos of a moon to an admirer by way of the highway of heavy machinery settled in the deep.