Have you ever fallen in love with a writer? Oh, that’s not what I intended to ask, let me reframe my question. Have you ever fallen in love with someone’s writing? Have you ever felt they write dipping their pen in the ink of emotions, the raw, the pure emotions? Have you ever touched their wounds (reflecting in their words) with bare hands and felt like the scars transferred to your soul? Some of us surely did.
But have you thought about the other end of the spectrum. What if it’s all a mirage? Suppose you admire someone who writes about women empowerment, but perennially treats his wife as a slave. Suppose a man makes loud social media protest against dowry, but believes he can’t forego his son’s ‘right to dowry’.
Suppose a man always writes about soul mates and in his every writing you find a deeper essence of true love, the more you read him the more you want to know him, and he slowly casts spell on you, you are mesmerized, totally lost in his poetry. But after a while the hypnotism vanishes, And for the first time you noticed his reality contrast starkly with his words. You are there, stranded, thinking how hollow the fulcrum of your relation was. You might have fallen for someone who doesn’t even exist.
We all have encountered so many articles describing the perks of falling in love with a writer. Of course, there are many. The writers are the best magician, so no doubt they can make you immortal, but you know what magic actually is? Right, ‘only the illusion of eyes.’