Fade into pixelated oblivion

A few minutes past midnight, I find myself staring at my laptop. Pulled out of my reverie by the glaring screen, I will myself to blink. My eyes are tired and, I realize a second later, my whole body is as well. I consciously blink a few more times, secretly hoping that every time my eyes refocus, the words that were boldly framed on my computer screen might do me a favor and fade into pixelated oblivion. However, as I have come to realize thanks to my throbbing temples, the text is real. And as a fresh memory hits me, they were unsurprisingly borne from the same pair of hands that are now rendered immobile by their haunting message.

A faint glow from the corner television partly illuminates my face, adding at least five years to my features. Temporary shadows start to dance across my cheeks while I continued to reread the text. I slowly take it all in, letter after letter, word after word, and I notice a familiar voice echoing behind my own. It was my own mind, pulling from under a pile of pains and joys long forgotten the exact same questions that I was now struggling to face.

By the time I finished, drained of the spirit that once thrived in me, I sat back and numbly thought. I wondered if I traversed this empty road alone or are there also others drifting through their days like me. At this notion, I nervously grinned at no one in particular. After all, the answer might not even matter. Looking at the same words an hour later, I feel less intimidated. I admit the fear is still there but, so is something else. A desire to immortalize this seemingly insignificant night in the semi-darkness of my bedroom in Iloilo was surfacing. And so, my fingers began tapping away at the keyboard, driven by the same ghostly cry that at one dreadful moment paralyzed me.

Have I stopped dreaming?
Have I stopped believing?