Dear Está,
We first met at a time when texting had efficiently replaced calls, real-life interactions were scarcely looked forward to, and the only approachable way to start a conversation was social media. I texted you first and everything else magically fitted in, like every inch of it was meant to be.
Ah, I still remember that two-hour-long debate I had in my mind when I first wanted to tag you in one of the memes, and the anxiety that followed because I had absolutely no idea how you would react to a stranger tagging you in a random post.
You and I are exactly 18 hours and 45 minutes apart which makes my desire to meet you once understandable. For once, I would really want to have a good look at your face and not your filter-applied photographs; I want to know how you move, how your eyes wander around a place, how you panic. I want to touch you. Know what you feel like. Look at you smile, look at you weep. Look at you blush, look at you annoyed. I really wish I could do all that.
And, while my brain knows that you are just two states away, my heart constantly argues that this physical distance between us is equivalent to distance between the two poles, as most of the time I find myself waiting for your replies.
While the emotional fool in me fantasies to have a warm hug instead of those calming words of yours, which inculcated a sense of being in me, the realist in me quietly saves all my pocket money for making that one trip to an unknown land which nests someone so close.
Of all the Internet strangers, I am glad that you were destined to be mine. You taught me many things, from Islamic laws, law of nature to philosophical agendas of life, and my favourite one being that people will come and go, but you were here to stay.
You are my emotional support, the only one I trust enough to fall back on, and share all my uncanny secrets. Without you, I am a wreck of flawed dreams and forced smiles.
YAMBIO DAVID 