At what point is someone worth listening to? What is the
scale of measurement to gauge the validity or relevance of someone’s
perspective? It’s strangely refreshing when another living and breathing human
being echoes your own sentiment. The connection… it’s a straight shot that
punches you in the chest, resonating with you and makes you feel like you’re
not alone. That’s the ticket.
I long for the day to come when my words, whatever form they
decide to take, to transcend the human touch. For each sentence to feel like a
hand on your shoulder on the worst day of your life—words colliding together,
friction from which creates heat to create warmth. I want the serifs of the
typography to dance with you in moments of ecstasy. Enjoy your youth together
in a grand crescendo and in silence when you don’t want to give single thing to
the rest of the world. I want my words to be indirectly responsible for your
sorrow.
It’s all because I recall memories not by events, but rather
in glimpses of imperfect recognition when feelings just barely begin to
register. I don’t remember the restaurant where we ate or the time of the
reservation, but forever ingrained is how comfortable it felt to be uneasy
because I was able to share something that I never have before. I couldn’t tell
you the color of the dress that you dieted for a week to fit into for the
wedding, but the smirk on my face when I held your waist in elation as you
posed like a flamingo? I still have that same smirk right now. My life is
measured in heartbeats, not locations and possessions.
I want nothing more than to communicate in feelings.
