Smaerd said to him, “today I shall share a short story with you and you shall tell me what you think.”
He sat down at Smaerd’s feet.
Keen for him to get started.
It had been ages Smaerd had told him any story.
His interest was piqued. His ears ballooned, ready to take in every word.
A blue moon,
Two kindred souls met virtually
Across thousands of miles.
They instinctively knew they were kin.
And so the two souls let go
Of the barriers to their human minds.
Sharing of what they were.
Lessons were learned.
And strengths applauded
The Qwerty board was their medium.
Their screen lights danced underneath the sheets.
The rays hidden from their room mate’s sight.
Into the darkness of the night,
Issues that weren’t issues
And issues that were.
They shared opinions on matters of old and new.
They built a fantasy land of escapism
Where both visited
Again and again.
Night after night.
To taste and accept with abandon,
the heady recklessness
Letting go proffered
To souls not in bondage,
But had never dared to roam free.
Alas, the souls were not to waltz for long.
Their song would not play for much longer.
Like ink and water,
Neither losing its identity
But forming a new one,
They had evolved into something they could name not.
They created a space solely for them.
Their mates were excluded.
But each morning brought with it the blinding reality they unknowingly try to escape.
A beautiful reality whose only fault was that it was no fantasy.
Their honest souls realised this.
So it came to be that
Guilt spread forth its tentacles
In their safe zone.
For deep inside, they knew
Their mates should be there with them
and not a random kindred soul.
With much sadness and reluctance they disentangled.
Both went their ways.
The abstract moments they stole, though no more,
Were not forgotten but treasured.
Both rapturously unaware
That had they met in person,
And not over the world wide web,
They would never have been acquaintances and definitely not friends.
He would have disliked her whinny voice
And she would have detested his stern demeanour.
Both would never have had the patience
To taste of each other’s soul.
To give of themselves to the other.
They would never have had a chance at building their fantasy world and would have been none the wiser.
Smaerd’s voice trailed off.
And silence took over his ears.
Smeard turned to him and broke the silence,
“Would you burst their bubble, or not?”
He was startled at the question. He had been brought back abruptly to the present from the world of the lucky kindred souls. His voice caught in his throat and all he could do was shake his head vigorously from side to side. Smaerd understood.
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