For we love personifying.

I was once asked what my blog would be like if it were a person. At the time, I must have laughed and mumbled something about my blog would obviously be like me in person. A few months have passed by since and I have diligently observed you, my dear blog.

The manner in which you encourage me to twist words. Perhaps only to add a slight poetic longing to them. Longing I had long forgotten about. The times when you refuse to let me write and script scathing posts that break more fragments of an ailing heart than they would have healed. The simplicity with which you take in every complaint, rant, fantasy and obsession I have thrown mercilessly at you.

You have been me, at some point in your existence, but that moment has passed. You, darling blog, are different. An entity that exists separate of me somehow. Perhaps it is a symbiotic life that we lead.

You would be tall. I get the feeling of a tall, lanky adolescent boy when I see you. The kinds who secretly wishes to play the Cello but decided to opt for a guitar instead. I see you walking down the street, childhood backpack and book in hand. You too, disdain change with the intensity that I do. It reflects in the ageing of your shoes, the manner in which you have yet not discarded your favourite childhood shirt. The yellow one, that is.

I get the feeling you have long hair. Not the kinds a rebel or a rocker would have. Just naturally long and flowly hair. They go well with your specs and aura of intellect. I wouldn't call you happy but then I wouldn't call you sad either. You've a marvellous ability to be content with the world. Some many even call you a star-child, one whom the fairy dust has been sprinkled upon. Yes, that would be it, for even your friends occasionally call you Peter Pan. You enchant them with your wicked eyes and sudden esoteric humour they have finally started to understand.

Tucked under your ability to get along with the world is another universe in itself. I suppose you hear home calling when you put an ear to the sea-shells. The sound of the sea is your siren call, I can see you travelling among steamers and ferrys. Aah Blog, you would make for a very curious person, I feel. You read. In fact, you devour books. Your love potion would probably smell like fresh ink and a newly opened book. That is where we meet. Somehow, you keep that single-minded worship of the written word a secret. The world has disappointed you on that more than once.

You prefer time to walk by slowly. Speed holds no thrills for you, for you will forever be that thin, lanky teenager who loves the shy girl across the street. And then there is your wild side. You drink, you party and you sing karaoke versions of songs like there never will be a tomorrow. And your smile. Your smile inspired a certain Anna Nalick to write: "But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles/Wanna hold him/Maybe I'll just sing about it."

And of course, you love Lemons. In all shapes and forms. The smell, the sour taste. If you would know how to cook those delectable mediterranean dishes you dream of, I suppose you would add lemon zest to everything. Yes, your dedication towards all things Lemon (including a certain Lemon Girl) is astounding. Perhaps more so than the fact that you've never heard the song that many believe inspired you.

That is the you I have shown the true me without restraints or fear. The adolescent boy that makes me remember days spent under the cotton tree and dreaming of Wonderland. That is you, Blog.

#Lesson for today: Just.