The Non-Dying Breed Should Be Allowed To Soar

January 21, 2008

Late evenings are best spent with a cup of steaming hot tea, a fruit or some bread, while curled up in a comfortable sofa. The hair left undone, wild as it was meant to be. Comfortable clothes which one only dare to wear at home and late at night, when no one is around.

Late evenings like these spur many thoughts. I am not one of a dying breed, I am one of a breed that during recent years has grown in numbers, lured more people to join. The breed has been looked upon, joked about, seen as being of a lesser value. Ill fit in society, having escaped to where they can not be judged.

Late at night, when all lights are out, their faces are still lit. The dim blue from a screen is reflected in their eyes. Their faces are always motionless, though they however may feature a swift smile or a single tear.

The people who this description fits, are people who are just like I. They are people who have not dared to enter the real world, they fear losing control. They know what the late evenings provide, they know nothing of the gifts of the world, for they have yet to discover them.

During the day people like I sit and sigh. They are gloomy, the dim blue of a screen has rid their faces of all their colors. Eyes half open, every breath a challenge. What they long for the most the day can not provide. It is when darkness falls that they are truly alive.

They take little time to come home, having completed the daily chores. They rid themselves of all memories of the day, the clothes go into the laundry, the hair is undone. A pair of slippers cover their feet, the steaming cup of tea is always nearby.

A pale hand is stretched out far, reaching for the piece of technology which brings meaning into their lives. A remote control, stylish colorful and black. A finger brushes up toward the first button and the dim screen is lit yet again. The blue light which is reflected by their faces is the only contact they ever have with anything. The faces smiling from beyound the screen is the only volountary contact they have with people during the day.

Emotionally drained, or scared of pouring their soul into something, they stare blankly into the air, their eyes seeing things swirling past on a screen lit from behind. The only way people like this can ever feel and experience, is through the actions of others, the emotions people of plastic have been payed to perform.

When tragic stories are presented before them, they may cry and rid themselves of the feelings they have bottled up inside. When romantic stories are dancing before their eyes, they sit and sigh, wondering why such wonderful feelings, such magical experiences never are theirs to adore.

Blind are these people, those to whom I belong, who believe that they never will soar, having been too scared to ever take off and see if they can fly. Saddening it also is for these people, who disappear while being in front of screen. They withdraw from the world, convinced that their only friends, their only allies in life, are those who never have been born.

It can be argued forever if it is wrong for people to adore others who never have been true, people whose faces belong to others, who are real, but who in turn does not know that their audience exists.

Some may say that these people are fed with lies, stories which never have been true. But these people have understood something others have not – the importance of being able to dream.

The dream, the idea, of one day being a special someone, like the ones being romanticized on screen, is what keeps these people alive.

As one of these people – as one of a dreaming, non-dying breed, still being one with the ability to reason and argue – I say that this breed should be let be. For, one day, they will all walk down a street and bump into a person who upon looking them into the eyes knows that they have found their special someone who they will share the rest of their life with.

Upon having seen eternity in someone else’s eyes, the plastic people of the dim blue light, the people who are not themselves, will no longer appeal to the breed to which I belong. For, what they have dreamed of during late evenings with steaming cups of tea, is now theirs, now and forever more.

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