Hearing the simple sound of fingers hitting the keyboard created a rainstorm-like environment throughout the room. The silence beyond that was barely heard. Any evidence of a human voice was not found. The strokes of the little keys continued to create a story, one day to be found.
I look up to the lecture screen and back down to my little monitor. The characters appear on my white background as my fingers rush past the different buttons. A story was to be written, a story was to be heard.
Not the kind of story you could read and understand. Not the kind of story that needed a voice to get heard. Not the kind of story you would find in any storybook. It was the kind of story, where all you had to do was look.
Press the play button. Press the pause.
Press play on the thoughts in your mind, no matter how much you hate to listen. Press pause on everything else that comes from the hectic world in which you live.
I look to my left and to my right. Everyone typing out a different story. Everyone typed at a different speed. Everyone has a different history, a different past…a different wish.
The sounds of the keyboard, the sounds of some sort of song. The melody of writer’s, the melody goes on…so, so long.