Possibilities; A Letter in the Month of May

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I am writing to you in the first week of May. Perhaps my diction is not as refined as you might expect, for which I beg your forgiveness.


(PC: Melodic Driver; https://www.pinterest.com/pin/1099230221570406166/)


"Tethered to this existence, days pass into nights and nights into days.

I scroll through the perfection captured on your wall—the moments you share, showered with thumbs‑ups and kind comments.

I see possibilities of connection but get lost in the numbers, realizing you will never address my genuine reactions or clumsy queries among the crowd of strangers.

I tried—and I have failed—to fit your world view. Yours, perfected over years of social interactions, has evolved from a private account into a high‑resolution chronicle of adventures that seem only yours to enjoy.

I used to adore; now I simply click “like” like everyone else. I am a blurred spectator, quietly following your new posts and milestones.

Weeks and months pass. I have added and deleted many, and many have done the same to me. Yet you remain—the one I still follow, the one I idolize.

In this month of May, I have finally realized I am no longer the fool of April. I use my IG account less and less, seeking instead the materials that might help me understand myself—not you.

You, whose possibilities are countless, beyond my comprehension.
Me, who can see only two: give up and find a new idol, or stay where I am.

Time has not been kind, and so I cannot easily give up. To understand you—the possibilities you so effortlessly embody—I have begun to turn inward. To understand myself, and the world that allows reflection.

I have studied war, the visions of the world as seen by foreigners, the nearing concepts of famine and genocide, the crises and tragedies that shape humanity. Still, there is so much more to learn.

I hope to interpret these things not as they are, for I am no journalist or historian—just a humble writer who once stopped writing. One who has written imperfectly, read halfway, and cheated on books—all still works in progress.

I pray that this May does not stop being May.
A certainty, I hope—this month as a crossroads, as I have always believed it to be.

I wish to connect the dots—sooner rather than later—and understand you, even a fraction if not fully.

So long…"


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