The Mad Writer

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love.

The Mad Writer

The writer was, by all means, a conventional woman with a good head on her shoulders. But recently, there was a man that she became infatuated with. Every day the first thing she would do when she opened her eyes would be to log online to check his status update. She would like all his posts and become completely lost in those first few minutes of the day. That was her escape from the mundane of her daily life, her bliss, her place of happiness.

There was no pragmatic manner for the writer and the object of her affection to build a rapport in real life, therefore, the relationship lingered into her imagination. And soon, the line between reality and fantasy became to blur and eventually disappeared altogether. In the days that followed, she started to experience a passion-fueled frenzy from the boundless idealization of him and completely abandoned reason.

She preferred a LOVE button but a LIKE button was the best Twitter could do, nevertheless, her eyes lit up every time she saw those little hearts next to her posts when he liked them. Those little pink hearts gave her the jitters and she would stare at them with a melted heart. Then she would write replies, however, she would be riddled with self-doubt and delete those replies that she deemed incompetent to express her intricate feelings.

A simple like was as far as he went, with anyone, for one reason or another, but that was enough to make her very happy. In the beginning, she would wait for a while after she wrote her replies and then refresh the page to check if he liked her posts. Sometimes he did, and at those moments she would experience pure ecstasy and smile involuntarily in front of her computer screen. Sometimes he didn’t, and she would plunge into hardcore depression with a severe heartache and no available remedy.

She suffered an unrequited crush on the very phantom that she created herself, god-like, unattainable and yet intimate. The time-lapse between refreshing the web pages was shortened, she felt like she would explode if she waited longer than a few minutes. And yet, the frequency of his likes significantly reduced accordingly. She would just sit there, clicking on the refresh button, staring at the screen with a blank expression. Inside her mind, millions of thoughts ran through at the same time. She wondered what happened and yet she alone knew the answer.

The realization hit her like disappointing electroshock, the likes meant nothing, her posts meant nothing, she meant nothing. She was completely crushed, her heart was heavy and her eyes wet, she felt her life was an elaborate nasty joke. She didn’t know what to do or what to think. She binged chocolate and drowned herself in liqueur but nothing helped, she was broken, alone and catatonic.

She is sitting in the dark staring at the screen right now. Against logic, clicking on the refresh button, like a tragedy.

 Et Imperatrix Noctem
Et Imperatrix Noctem
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