Nabilah Weiting !♥ Wenmin

Sometimes you read something that someone wrote, someone out there in the world, someone whom you don’t know and who doesn’t know you, never knew someone like you existed. You have no idea who this person is, what they look like, if their voice is gruff or melodic or soft. You don’t really care, either.

But suppose you read something that someone wrote, and it tore your heart apart by reading. Without your knowledge, without their meaning to, they reached right into your heart, right into the deepest, concealed truths you hid from yourself, and took the words you couldn’t say into their hands. They wove your story with their bare hands straight out from your heart, threaded all the emotions and the thoughts you’ve long suppressed into the tapestry, and displayed it on a wall, for the world to see.

And all you can think is of that one moment, one moment in time when those words were entirely yours, a memory which didn’t belong to anyone else. All you can think of is, how did they know? And seeing those words, seeing your own story reflected in someone else, it rips your heart into pieces, knowing that it’s true. That it’s all true.

And this sudden loneliness hits you, swamps you in its embrace. They will never know what they did to you, but you know they exist, even if you don’t know who they are.