[Short story.]
"You're up again, hm?"
I never thought that something as simple as a little white text box filled with lavender words could be so refreshing. Italicized times new roman font was her personality, and I admit, it was a nice little break from staring at a blank notepad, with its invisible lines of ideas scribbled somewhere all over the page. My eyes had been glaring at its white face for a godawful long time...enough for me to drift off into space, until her text window poked me back into reality. It was an oddity, however...because she never usually disturbed me while I had my away message activated. What was the occasion?
"Yup, I'm trying to get at least one chapter done," I replied, about five minutes later...five minutes of mixing myself in my curious thoughts of her sudden text window. Online messaging...such a wonderful thing it is, I believe.
She answered, and I could hear her voice whispering in my head as I read her words, "Writing that pseudo-novel of yours haha."
A "pseudo-novel"? That was a new one to me. I couldn't tell, but I sensed a bit of sarcasm. Though it was always so hard to tell when you're reading these things.
Still, rapid finger tapping resounded, and I entered, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I'm writing right now, you know."
And without hesitation, the words, "No I bet you're staring at a blank notepad," came flying back at me. I couldn't help but laugh, knowing that she spoke the truth, knowing that, as redundant as it may sound, she knew.
"You caught me red-handed...I don't know what to write about. I can't think of a topic," ...I could hear myself, my whispered voice speaking to her, directly to her, and it was the same for her, because her voice sounded so clear in my head, but an imagination still had its obvious limits. It was only based on memory, and I can't trust my memory for dear life. For all I know, I could have mixed other female voices into my head and somehow compiled them all into one entity. In this case, it would have to be her.
"Write about love, that's always a good topic," she replied.
One second passed, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, five, six, seven, eight...if you think about it, ten seconds of silence could easily pass for ten minutes of silence. I sat there, staring at the italicized word, painted in lavender, wearing times new roman attire, saying quite blatantly, "love." Write about love. Love? What is it? I've never experienced it. It's impossible for an author to write something about nothing, especially when he or she hasn't experienced it yet, hasn't touched it, smelled it, seen it, or heard it.
"I can't write about that...about love. I could only guess what it is, and give you a superficial view about it. I don't know what love is, exactly," I finally stated.
"Silly, haha. You have a good imagination don't you? If I explained it to you, would you be able to imagine it?"
My mind churned over the idea for maybe a couple of minutes (which were really just seconds), and I finally replied, "Yeah, sure thing."
"Well....this is what I think love is. Love...is feeling content, love is longing, it's staying up late waiting for your loved one, it's staying awake in your bed thinking about your loved one, it's listening to every single song your loved one sang to you, it's loving them for whatever they're wearing that day, from formal dress, to grungy faded out jeans, it's wanting to hear their voice, it's wanting to shatter the distance that lies between you and your loved one, it's feeling envious of others who are lucky enough to be with their loved one, it's feeling a sense of loneliness and emptiness when you know that your loved one exists somewhere, and anywhere else in the world except right next to you, love is a disease that makes you wait, makes you cry, feel pain, turns you into an insomniac, helps you sleep like a baby, makes you smile, makes you feel every damn emotion you could think of..."
There was a pause...and this time seconds turned into minutes...and I counted three minutes and fifty four seconds of grueling silence which I could have chosen to break if it weren't for my cowardice. After the three minutes and fifty four seconds of silence, her text window became alive again and in it, I read the words, "Did you imagine it?"
I remember then...that I was a stupid idiot for saying, "That's a lot of commas."
She signed off at 3:04:23 AM.
Fiction: 03/25/08 | Posted By: Erzengel Weiss | 1 comment | Personal
