I read his words.

I read his words and it was the most beautiful thing I had come across in ages. It intrigued me how a stranger could seem so familiar to me, How his brokenness reflected in words, the same way mine had at times. It made me crazy how he felt the same things I did when I had a heartbreak. I sent him two words and he filled the void in his sentences with them in a way so magnificent that they danced together with the grace I hadn't seen in ages. You see there are those gifted writers in the world who will be in textbooks echoing through history, remembered by humanity till the end of time and there will be those gifted writers who will touch very few lives but in a way so deep, so hot that it will burn and be etched in your soul and on your skin. This boy, this man, for I'll never know which one it was, his words belong to those of the latter group. But I hope someday when I pass by the local bookstore I see his name on the cover of a worldwide bestseller, his picture at the back, that will be the day I see him, the day my imagination will be mocked because he will look nothing like I had assumed. The mystery will be darker that day, the burns he left in my thoughts deeper, the burden lighter and the scars brighter. This human will touch lives, he will mend them because it takes a broken soul to know another and it takes a broken one to fix another.
But the most saddening truth is.
I read his words but I would never read him.