Human by proxy

ByProxy8pm… tears down, rolling fast, dressing up the skin of my cheeks with waterfalls, like a light curtain unfolding. Outside is no better. I hear the wind fighting with the window, banging its head against the glass; I hear the rain escaping in the night; I hear the drop exploding from my cheek to my chest, my heart swimming,   a bit skipped at times. A glass of sweet white wine –a Monbazillac- catches a stretch of my hand to a kiss from my lips, and the tears keep pouring between two sips of sweetness.

Are they really mine?

Hiccup is on its way. Can’t drink and cry at the same time… never could… and still will.

Oh gosh, I feel so good.

I can’t even remember the title of the movie I’ve just watched. It could have been anything really: a post somewhere on the web, an extract of an ebook, a youtube video, a snapshot on Instagram, an alert on any news stream. What do I care really?

My heart is so full of emotions. It is exploding like that tear drop on the back of my hand. I hear its moaning of joy as I feel human again, overwhelmed with emotions I may never encounter, here in the lovely cell of my city.

Human… by proxy.

So visible… and so invisible.

So isolated… and so surrounded.

So disconnected… and so connected.

I’ve even added a new friend to the collection this week, a new smartphone now my new toy. I could nearly be scared, and maybe I should. I know my mind won’t make the differences. Neurosciences proved it: between real and virtual my brain reacts the same, creates the same chemical reaction, the same oxytocin and others. Soon, there, in my living room, I will be flying like an eagle over the Everest, there crawling on my carpet, a new pair of glasses over my eyes and a set of wire between me and my computer. There, I will be crawling on an underground floor, flying over an illusion.

So free… and so trapped.

So eager… and so lied to.

What will my brain truly remembered when I will be walking over the rooftop of my building, ready to fly like an eagle, the glasses left on the carpet in the basement?

So trusting… and so tricked.

I wonder…

Would I still have a name when we cross over the wire netting? Or would I simply be

“thegirlontheothersideofthescreen@humanbyproxy.com”?

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