In the quiet solitude of my space, I watched the drizzle from the window, feeling a sense of peace as the rain washed the world in a soft embrace.
Tranquility pervaded in the atmosphere, as if the world itself had taken a deep breath, exhaling a peaceful calmness that embraced everything in its serene cocoon.
An opened book lay forgotten in my lap, its pages untouched as my thoughts drifted elsewhere. The sky was getting dark. Lifting myself up, l walked towards my bedroom . On the nightstand was an old worn out book with a shabby blue cover. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp l turned the yellowed pages until l reached where l had left yesterday.
It was an old journal laid hidden among other books kept inside a small cupboard left by the previous owner of this house.
At first it was pure curiosity. A simple feeling of excitement. Opening someone's personal diary felt like unlocking a treasure chest, each page a portal into the uncharted territories of their emotions and experiences.
The excitement in reading them was akin to stepping into a clandestine world, where the unfiltered thoughts and hidden dreams of another soul came to life.
As I initially explored it, the words appeared endearing, a glimpse into a tender world of feelings. However, with each passing entry, what began as admiration shifted into something unexpected and troubling.
The more I read, the hungrier l got. A voracious appetite to devour even the tiniest details on them.The more l got to know, the more they evolved from mere words to an indispensable part of my world.
What started as an innocent curiosity, admiring the cute words in the diary, soon transformed into an all-consuming obsession, weaving a tangled web of emotions that I hadn't anticipated.
As fingers tenderly caressed the dried ink on the page, the words uttered into the solitude felt like a pious prayer.Yet all at once it was pure blasphemy.
2017
Wednesday
Quote of the day,
"Amidst cosmic chaos, serendipity wove the threads of chance, aligning our fates in a dance orchestrated by the universe itself."
The reader fell in love with a fictional character.
I'm unable to get this out of my mind. It is such a unique concept... Two souls belonging to two entirely different dimensions are brought together by the conspiracy of universe.
What if, just like how the reader is in love with the character and is thinking about them, the character might also be thinking about the reader, who knows.
Can it be possible?
Goodnight.
****
'Love transcends time'
With each turned page, the reader found themselves falling in love not just with the words but with a fictional character who leapt from the pages and into their heart.
Truly romantic. But what is disheartening is that despite all its grandeur it is just an intriguing notion confined to the pages of fiction, never to be glimpsed in reality .
The silent agony of a reader lies in the realization that, despite the depth of their emotions, the fictional character would forever be a phantom, unable to reciprocate the love that had blossomed in the reader's soul.
In the aftermath of finishing the book, the they feel a profound emptiness, mourning a love that was never real .
The ache in their heart mirrored the fictional character's departure, leaving behind a void that no real-world love could ever fully fill. That is reality.
Isn't it the same for us?
The more I get to know the layers of your soul, the more I feel myself falling for you, like an endless free fall into the depths of an emotion that defies explanation. I know It's not just a fleeting feeling. It is a gradual descent into something profound.
But with each passing page, my heart aches, knowing that the love l am feeling for you is a beautiful tragedy, destined to remain trapped in the world of ink and paper.
How l wish to see you, how l long to hear those words that l have only known through dried up inks from your mouth. Yet these wishes will remain wistful for l will never be able to meet the one l love as they have been lost in time. A person who existed seven years ago. The you in the present is a stranger donning the shadow of the person l love.
***
