Today, the winds carried the rain; turning it into a fine mist that enveloped the pavement leading to my former campus. Under the crunch of my shoes, the gravel scraped each other, helping the droplets of water congregate into large pools of water. Which in turn, formed rivers that splashed as strangers walked past each other.
Couldn’t they see the puddles on the floor branch out into fine networks that linked every one on the pavement to one another? Each forming a tiny line that connected you to me, and me to you.
Yet never once did anyone of us offer a smile to each other.
I'd probably shoot you another glance only if you were on either ends of the gorgeous or slutty poles.
It’s ironic because what’s left of human interaction is mainly online. What once was a personal letter now is an email. And what I learn from another person’s life is largely via snooping around facebook or the likes of it. People resort to commenting on each other’s post instead of face to face conversation.
I’ve even read people commenting on the comments from the comments that they leave on their own posts. Wow.
Pathetic.
I’m wasn't born into the whole sms and instant messaging generation but undoubtedly, it is here to stay. And try as I might to adjust my bearings to embrace this popular culture, I remain a firm believer of the traditional pen and paper. So if you think I blog a lot, you should see my pile of frenzied chicken scrawls at home.
Against my other mountain of books and trove of cigarettes, it's a miracle I've not been burned to death.
I firmly believe the people that remotely treasure my friendship will bother enough to contact me direct. Either that or continue to just live in limbo of this make-believe virtual world where I only spin tales of what I want to share, where I’ll always be right and comments are always disabled.
Because frankly, I don’t care who the fuck you are here.
