Social Love.

New post! I was excited as I saw your name on my notification panel.

Yes, I have the notifications turned on.

I wonder, as I open the app via the notification, what is it this time; a picture quote, a painting, a doodle or a photograph.

It finally loads. I slowly savour the amazing photograph, the way you captured the crisp ripples of water, which maybe you had created, amidst the blurred steely blue layer of still water which got dissolved into a soft haze of green. I could imagine you, faceless, sitting on the banks of the lake throwing a stone inside the lake, the plop of water breaking the monotonous sound of wind rustling through the leaves of the summer magnolia.

Yes, I don’t really know who you are.

Your Instagram bio doesn’t help much. Neither does your witty username.

I don’t understand how can I be in love with someone I don’t even know, but I’ve fallen for you. Or is it your writings?

I like to imagine you, with you lying on your bed, your hair tousled in a beautiful mess, coffee by your side as you try to click your most recent artwork in the perfect angle. Then you sit up and ponder over the idea of not uploading this. But your bravery gets the better of you and you end up uploading it. And with a mesmerising caption.

I love the way you write things that are just so brave and brutally honest, usually someone would not even imagine thinking. How intensely you write about heartbreaks and pain and death. And how there's an equal amount of subtleness on things like a cup of tea, an old song or a delicate flower. And those gentles strokes in your paintings that shows a certain softness in you. As if you’ve seen the worst, but rose like a phoenix becoming more beautiful. Even with all this, there are certain things that make you beautifully imperfect. Like, you always write your ‘amidst’ as ‘admist’. I’ve always found this mistake to be utterly adorable. I wonder if you’ll ever notice that it is wrong. Or you’ll take this with you to the grave? Because no matter what I always backspace the comment where I’ve pointed this out.

If there is a certain thing I absolutely adore about you is the way your following count shows your humility. When I looked into the list, I found the most underrated writers and artists who deserved more admiration. Your long comments that dripped of motivation made sure you did you part in helping them do better. Your followers, Ah, I found people from all walks of life. From popular youtubers to a fantastic poet who had just 10 followers (you were one of them, obviously) I understood how you had impacted those lives you had touched, even though just on social media. Maybe it’s just the way you are. Or maybe it’s the way you want to be in real life, But the social pressure of being cool and savage doesn’t allow you so. It’s okay, I understand. Not just you, a lot of people pretend to be what they are not, just to fit in. Just to fit in.

The thought of it can be so scary. That you can never be mine. But for me it’s straightaway romantic. It can also turn out to be the most beautiful love. Obviously, it will need us to make it beautiful.

Or, maybe I don’t really love you. Maybe it’s just the image of you I have in my mind that I am in love with. You could be just another social media alter-ego. But funnily, isn’t that what everyone else does? They just love about people what they are comfortable with. Flaws, are a scare for everyone. But yes, this love, is purer than anything I have ever felt. It’s the spirit of you I am in love with. I love you for who you mean to be. I love you totally for what I know you are, with all the flaws of you I know.

Maybe I’ll never meet you. Maybe I’ll never know who you are.

 Maybe just maybe, like the parallel universe theory, I end up finding you. And maybe you’ll be someone who I’ve always known. Or maybe you’ll be exactly who I believe you to be. Maybe I’ll end up marrying you.

There are a lot of maybes. And there are a lot of things I’d anyways want to tell you.

Maybe I’ll find you and tell you everything. And I’ll love you with all my heart and soul.

Or else, I’ll keep on writing, imagining things that won’t be anything more than mere maybes.