I have been reading a lot of people since I got interest in reading field, more people I read were never professionals, they were all simple writers, writers who just wrote their stuffs because writing was the only thing they found themselves comfortable in. They wrote to express their views to themselves. The amazing part of their writing was they all wrote each others view. The funniest part was they all write the same base with different formats and fonts of life. The funniest fact is, more than half of the world things similar but are tagged as unique. The major role that each and everybody write is on “life.” And all that they have to write in their text is on “you and me”; these two words make a single sentence in themselves when brought together. In these three words even you know you said a lot saying nothing; just by these three words. Who knows what you framed, but you have framed yourself, your writing’s in this. You framed your whole title in this.
I remember of a thing, there was this work of art my friend was given, there was this thing he was said to do, and that thing includes an art in itself. He had to draw a sketch which included just an individual factor in it. That sounded all similar and maybe even easy for him. He did draw a man walking on streets with a shadow. And asked me how the drawing was? I replied him saying it was beautiful. He then asked me the reason of sketching everything into shadows, which means tell me why is it like I drew shadows for all? Come on tell me, he said. Maybe because everything that on earth reflects in the form of shadow, I answered. Think deeper he said. How deep you want me to think on it? I asked. As deep as you can find answers for your one single question he replied me back. After a silent moment of time I thought of answering him back, I said him “maybe because that’s the way we all are placed, or maybe sometimes that’s how we all are.” He was with a blank look on his face. He stared at me for a moment. He stared me the same me as a writer stares for a moment at a blank page. I was stuck for a view thinking of just snapping it out on his face and asking him of where was his lost for a while, but then thought of holding on, and allowed him to wake himself by his own from the thoughts he was rolled on into. After a moment he said, “How did you connect it in that sense?” Maybe sketching is your art but putting words into writing in mine.
We all write and do stuffs as an individual maybe, and there is no story which only included writings all about “me, me and me.” We all are satisfied with two words, and those two words are “you and me.” We have all always connected things or are parts of life with living or non-living things. There is nothing in this world that moved alone. Maybe when you are with somebody their shadow falls on you or maybe yours on them, but when you are alone you always get to see two people, and then when you get to know you call it “hello! This is me so and so and this is you as my so and so.” Why even make it stand as individual when you are placed with two things among you, the one is you as me and the other is you as your soul. He clapped on whatever I said him and hugged me for the way I described his sketch. You are too deep he said, nobody is deep it’s just the way you see it and you allow yourself in one’s place I replied.
For a moment of time, I am not actually getting out of this concept of you and me stuff. But maybe I loved relaying myself into it. And in the end I guess I choose to either stay in it. It feels beautiful must say, you should even try this, and it feels better. Give a chance to know yourself. Give a chance to explore yourself from within. Let it happen if you wish of letting it happen.
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