I want you to forget that your right hand is rested on the mouse, that you can skim through the entire thoughts let out on this sphere to look for the bold statements, the underlined phrases, or the paragraphs written in a loud “size 28”. I want you to forget that this is just another post and that it is TOO LONG for your day. I want you to forget that the words are written by a nameless and faceless person, one whom you’ve never seen, one whose voice you’ve never really heard.
I want you to remember that those words are all breathing. They are written by a person with a face, a name, a residence he’s always trying to accept, possibly a family, and surely a dark cloud of problems. Those words written on these untouchable pages are poured out by a quiet woman in a cafe, a woman who made it to wake up at 5 am because it’s damn Monday again. Those screaming words are written by people who have many friends but feel that even having a thousand ears to hear them out still isn’t enough for such heavy sentiments, worries, and questions that walk with them footprint by footprint, day by day.
The heart is such a heavy place; it’s a mad city in war four seasons a year.
So the next time you click a title and you are thrown to a page that yells “Scroll down!”, FORGET THE MOUSE! Be like that friend who sips and puts the coffee mug down, that friend who intently listens to every word and every intonation of my story.
Because in these untouchable pages, you can’t really be like Mom who can cook and walk around the kitchen yet still manages to make me feel that she knows every word I’m yelling at her.
You can only be that stranger who happens to stumble upon this page, that nameless and faceless stranger whose voice I have never heard. You can be that person reading these woven words made by lightnings of emotion. You can be that person I do not know who somehow knows where all these words came from and where they are all heading to: to a point where we will both smile and agree. A point where once again, we would feel that we are actually not alone.
You can be that beautiful person I’ve never known yet knows me in depths I still have to dive into even without coffee and conversations that linger along brewing beans. You can be that warm smile that assures me that it’ll be okay. You can be that presence that bothers the monsters I cannot handle and the pat on the shoulder that turns me into a warrior again.
JUST BY READING.