Friday, 20 February 2015

Writings: Dear you.

You were behind the pillar, waiting.

I saw you.

Flustered, you checked your watch, mentally hurrying that someone to come --that someone who never came.

You were with a group of friends, laughing in jocund banter.

But your eyes were traitors, dark and downcast.

I saw you.

You sat alone with earphones plugged, donned with tattoos, piercings, and fiery red hair.

Formidable you may well have looked, but as you strode, you flashed a smile at the old lady janitor. 

I saw you.

You were always residing at the seat far right, at a corner of the auditorium.

First one to come, and last one to leave. 

Nobody ever saw you, but I did.

I saw you.

And I write for you, the girl behind the pillar. I write for you, the guy who pretends to be happy, the jock who puts up an intimidating front, the one who sits alone in lectures. You don't know, but I write for you. And there are times I wish so desperately, to help in any way, if only I could. Because as strange as it sounds, I care for you. 

You have taught me so much about the world without even being thus cognizant, that happy people are often sad, that bad people can be good. That the world is not always what it seems, that surprises come unexpected, both pleasant or otherwise. And I wish I could put a smile on your faces, but you don't know me. And the regrettable truth is, you probably never will.

But for the brief interim that I have been thus oddly acquainted with you, I am grateful. And dear you, and you, and you. I sincerely wish you all the best. For hearts a little less broken, and minds in the mending. For genuine smiles on your faces, and eyes that would shine bright with the hope that lies beyond.

Perhaps one day, we shall meet again.

Till then, be safe.

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