Words On A Screen

by, Cassandra

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So many times I’ve written about life, and about death. About hate and love and all those other emotions I’ve never once felt in my life… that I know of, at least.

I’ve written like I’ve felt them, know them, owned them… and maybe I did… through the eyes of a fiction character. Through the eyes of an alter-ego. Through the eyes of someone I wish I was. Someone I wish I could be.

I pretend. I am pretend. I don’t exist. I’m not real. I’m not here. I’m invisible, and the only part of me that anyone can see is my words on this screen. Only, those get overlooked a lot. But it doesn’t matter… not like I meant them anyway.

But maybe I did. I’m so confused these days. That’s about the only emotion I can say I’ve felt with certainty… I hope. I’m sinking deeper and deeper into this, and I’m getting dragged farther and farther out to sea. Did no one hear me scream?

Just because I am pretend doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to be heard. Hear me, I beg of you. Acknowledge me as I am. Just a voice being carried across the Wind. Just these empty words on a computer screen. Just these fingers on the keys.

This is how I exist. This is why I live. This is what I breathe. This is what I am… entirely. I’m losing grip with Reality, because she let go of me long ago. She knew I was Fantasy. Illusion. Imagination. Made completely of fleeting dreams.

I flow through another realm…. where anything is possible. Where you can be anyone you want to be. Where the voiceless and the voices meet and join. They become a team. A body for the voice and a voice of the body. They depend. They need. They are. I’m still waiting for it to happen to me.

I shift out of focus too fast for anyone to catch me. I change colors like the rainbow illusion I am. I flit and flirt with words all day, but still… no one hears the words I say. They read the words I write… but they don’t hear.

They don’t hear the emotion bubbling over. They don’t hear the pain I’ve picked up from others. The sorrow and the misery. The laughter and the joy. The love and the hate. It’s good and it’s bad. It’s wrong, but it’s oh-so right. They don’t hear what I don’t feel.

I’ve never felt shivers down the spine at a caress to the face. I’ve never known the pain of a fist raised in anger. I’ve never experienced the helplessness of watching a loved one turn and walk away. Not really, at least. Not truly. Not live and living and in color. Not bruised, marked and sated.

It’s just jaded. Dulled down to an echo of some distant might’ve been memory. More then likely a dream. A figment of imagination. An illusion. Jaded. Dull. Not real. Not real. Never, ever real. Why can’t I have real?

I’m waiting for my other half to break me out of this box. I need a body to go with the voice. I need to be capable of action. I need to move. I need to shake. I need to break. I need. I need. I need.

Empty words on a screen. They don’t mean a thing.