I think people talk to strangers for these reasons:

1.       They want to befriend them.

2.       They want to ask for directions.

3.       They’re right smack lonely.

Strangely enough, all of these things applied to me.

I never expected to meet someone in the most bizarre way, but I did.

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I remember how late it was back then. Maybe it was somewhere around three or four in the morning—I wasn’t sure, but the dimly lit street outside of my house was empty, aside from the occasional drunkards who walked by, while slurring out some popular songs in the worst way possible. I was alone in my apartment which was close to the university I was attending, and having internet connection, I was actually desperate to talk with someone. I guess, in a nutshell, you could say I was lonely.

I couldn’t imagine myself being vocal about my feelings, so one day, while feeling like I was about to snap, I decided to make a blog to write my feelings down. I kept on doing it until it became a blissful routine of mine; I did it until I gained a handful of friends; I did it even more when he came around.

There was something intriguing about that blogger, you see. He had a way with words and his personality was different. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t able to fully decipher a person. His name in the internet was ‘Clover’. I never knew his real name, he didn’t know mine. I wasn’t interested in finding it out—his name, I mean. Sometimes, I’d like to think I already knew his deepest thoughts without knowing the basic things about him.

What good would it do if you knew a person’s favorite color, number and style? If you didn’t have the slightest idea on what makes him tick, all of those are rendered useless.

Despite us having a complex connection with each other, I considered him as someone whom I held close to my heart. I never told him this, though. How could I, when it could be misinterpreted as me admiring him? How could I, when I knew just how foolish it was to grow attached to a complete stranger, whom I only knew by the eloquent and interesting words he typed?

It was somewhere around three or four in the morning—like I said, I wasn’t sure—when Clover messaged me first. He was quite famous, but he kept a low profile. Aside from his quirkiness and gender, nobody knew what he looked like, or how old he actually was. To be honest, that may have been one of the rarest times I was thankful for my insomnia. If I wasn’t awake by then, I would’ve missed his message, and things would’ve been…well…ordinary.

I like the way you write.

-Clover

That simple sentence started everything.