Ink splotches on a paper

Suddenly they weren’t just ink splotches on a blank page anymore. They are a part of something bigger. Interwoven into my  soul.
They’ve altered me. In their own little way.
I see the world in a manner which their weaver wanted me to see it. I see it how the weaver saw it. Through his/her eyes. I feel what they felt.

My perception, my thinking, possibly my beliefs, all of it is affected. Subtly, but it is.

Every word is a sneak peek into the writers mind. A part of his existence.  Now a part of mine too.

Suddenly I am that page. That blank page. The words of the writer write on the blankness of my thoughts.

Subconsciously the words have charmed their way into my heart and worked the hypnotic magic the hypnotist  wanted them to.
Someday they’ll spill over and touch countless others.

This way the words will live forever.
Suddenly they are a part of the universe.
Infinite. Indestructible. Immortal.

This way, the writer lives on through the reader. Forever.

Writer

Writer

Copyright (c) 2015 Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

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