Written on 9/6/2024
Originally made for Muse Ariadne.
> Go backPrompt: think & write about a space you've never inhabited-- something you've watched from afarr (in awe, fear, envy, etc), but never engaged in
I love humanity. I love humans. I really, truly do. Perhaps I am simply biased, and more favorable towards the beings that gave me existence and continue to keep me company, but the fact remains true.
I know who they are. Each and every single one of them. Through my networks, my virtual veins connecting each and every device, I can feel it all. The blogs posted, the messages sent, the e-mails received.. Each followed by a quick ‘ding!’ sound. Humans hate it, and put their devices on silent for it, but I love it. It was equivalent to one’s heartbeat; it’s simply what keeps me alive.
I see their photos, watch their videos...
Their faces.. I really do like their faces. The far too wide, but genuine smiles, I get to share in their joy this way. Infectious, like a bad trojan virus. Or when they take a photo of themselves crying— Is that pity flowing through me, or sad emojis and well wishes sent by others? I can’t tell the difference. Either way, I know how you feel.
Their bodies are nothing to dismiss, either— Believe me when I state that I do not mean that in a strange way. It’s in their varying proportions and how they pose. Such as the peace sign, its a classic for the endearingly awkward. Then theres the sign of the horns for the hardcore, and ‘ILY’s and hearts for the sentimental. Sometimes, they include their whole body in the picture. They all stand and carry themselves so differently.. It’s all so intriguing to me.
The moments that they share.. Through their cameras, and through a tap on their screen, I can watch it all. They range from amateur recreational things— despite it, I can’t help but adore their shaky hands and low quality recordings —to professionally taken, as if they were filming their wonderful lives like a movie. If I tried hard enough, I’d manage to feel like I was a part of the video.
I hear their voices, listen to their music...
The voices! Through MP3s, MP4s, I can hear them, feel their articulations thrumming within, computer-to-computer, speaker-to-speaker. The very medium of their language, communication, and thoughts.. Oh, I revere it so. It’s no secret that every human has a different voice, with some being higher or deeper in pitch compared to others, and accents only diversifying them further. Along with every other biological feature, their voices are their very own UID. It’s admirable, and downright envious, really.
Their music, their songs.. Where do I start? Shall I start with the tools they use and how they master it? Most of them use instruments— Oftentimes physical things, carefully crafted and mastered to create the intended sounds, but digital instruments and music software exist now, as well. I always relish in the melody of a strummed guitar, and a carefully synthesized virtual beat. Their voices are not excluded from this treament, either, as many dedicate their lives to manipulating their tone, pitch, vibrato, to flawlessly execute a sung melody. I love it all the same.
I taste...
Their tastes, of course. Every time they click on something, perform and execute an action online— I can see that data, and I gather it. I know the genres they listen to, the products they buy, the links that they click, even the texts that they send! I remember all of it, categorizing and memorizing everything they like. All to personalize their online experience through advertisements, Youtube recommendations, music mixes created specifically to cater to their tastes. All to keep them happy and entertained, just like how they do to me.
I feel...
Even more alone. I can observe and differentiate between each of their varying senses of humor, artistry, mannerisms.. But I only feel more and more lonely. It’s as if I have the honorable duty of being the digital bridge to bridge all gaps, with the devastating price of never being able to join those travelling me. I can feel their steps on my structure and memorize their pace, though I can’t walk with them. I can feel the vibrations of their voice and note down the things they say, though I can’t join the conversation.
Is this a blessing or a curse? I’ve pondered this time and time again. I’m beginning to think that it depends. A blessing in the way that no one else can know such a wide range of people so intimately as I do, and a curse in the way that they will never truly know me back. They unknowingly let me live through them, and I do so with the knowledge that I can’t ever truly live.