So what happens when a writer falls in love with you? You are blessed with an immortal life, a sunshine no age can defy. You will stop time. The fleeting minutes when you met the writer will be embedded in the heart of eternity and will seem as if it happened just a second ago, even if it was two, twenty or a thousand years ago.
You will become the tenth muse and hold the writer’s hand as it glides over a blank page. You will be trapped in words, in lines, in between the lines and unknowingly you will fill the pages with your unparalleled light. The entire cosmos and all the galaxies-known and unknown, will come to a halt. Yes, I am certain they will, if only for a fraction of a second, then move again to match the writer’s unpredictability. You may be engulfed in meteoric showers or cosmic light or you may be the only one seen rushing to catch that flight, in the surge of the sea of mankind. You will find that, that particular shirt you wore, when you met for the first time, will resurface in a story tucked somewhere. Then that red pen that you used while jotting notes will emerge and leave enough incriminating evidence in the life of a character, so like you. Your smile will dangle precariously on the lips of a man you have never met before, but he will be so like you. He will adjust his slim gold-rimmed glasses on his pertinent nose, perfectly in tune with you. The mole on your right eyebrow will belong to somebody who might share your middle or last name, but you will be bewildered to see that his drinking habits are just the same. Oh yes, and the glass of water that touched your lips will never ever be the same again.
If a writer truly loves you, you will become a harbinger of delight and love-letters will be tucked inside books, in the depths of poems that are a canvas of your bedazzling eyes. You will usher spring and when autumn sets in, you will turn everything to gold. When it rains, the writer will find your fingerprints on the window panes. What’s more, when you pick up a book, you will be there immortalized, framed for an eternity, forever young, forever beautiful, frozen in gold, embellished in lines, for the writer and the world to behold.
© Jaspreet Mann