There is this blog that I follow. I have followed it for years. It doesn't belong to a big name blogger or even a middling one. It sits unknown, a quiet little thing lost in the vast deep ocean that is the internet. I do not know who else reads it, I know only the young lady who writes it, and I have known her for years.
I have followed her through thick and thin, through all her troubles, all her joys, through the sadness that has made me cry and the happiness that has made me smile. I have sat in so many places in the world, and she has been a mainstay, someone who has drawn me back time and again, that has shown me a reflection of life unlike my own. She has taught me, made me think, made me feel. She has been incomprehensible, alien, familiar, recognisable.
I have sat with her through her struggles, her quibbles and her rants. I have watched silently, imagining the tears and the laughter, the world in which she lives. I have occasionally nudged, dropped a word here and there, where it was right to, to remind her that someone reads and someone understands, and that someone hopes for her.
She has taught me much, about myself, about herself, about living and loving and all the subtle tortures and exquisite moments that life can bring. She has been thoughtful, insightful, inane, childish, adult, wise beyond her means. She has been everything that a person can be, and she yet has far to travel, to experience and to become. As she has grown I have grown, a journey undertaken together, unknown and unknowing, only just realised.
I will never meet her. As her blog fades, as she moves on and grows and changes she may pass into other worlds and another life, and I will never be the witness I have been. And there is a sadness in that, and a hope too, that she attains better things and is content and happy.
I follow this blog, small, significant, drifting quietly in the currents of the internet. It is attached to a real, living, wonderful human being, who thinks, writes, dreams and hopes.