What a mere cluster of alphabets and numbers that hold no existence anywhere but a screen. So ephemeral. A mere cluster of randomly chosen letters that are so utterly incapable of holding the profundity of meaning, incapable of making our lips twist and turn and press against each other, incapable of reminding us of memories so fond, of kisses and breathlessness, incapable of making it’s way to the yellowed pages of a diary or old letters that speak of love and longing, a cluster of letters incapable of holding within itself the power of expression, the power to cage the agonies and beauties of the world and it’s abstracts, of memories and moments, of feelings so covert or not so, incapable of giving shape to everything that exists, or everything that appears to, a cluster of letters than can hardly take the beautiful and powerful form of ‘words’ and hence majestically falling short of giving life and lending our hearts the profundity of catharsis.
And yet powerful enough to validate or not, the verity of us being human.