The precious few

The precious few

There are few people in this world, we dearly call earth. These people, they lie silent, as if soundproofed by untold sadness and unseen darkness, living on the other side of this barrier of vacuum, who seem to be unsociable, odd.
These people are not odd.
They're treasure chests. They're beautifully carved oysters. 
These people are the ones who deserve fandom. These are the ones, beautifully carved treasure chests with untold unfelt treasures, studded with gems of all merry colours, lying somewhere in that abyss, deep in that darkness, somewhere, lurking to be found. This chest, so beautiful that a mere vague glance could light up a dull room. A treasure chest glowing with so much light, it lights up the darkness in people. 
These people are the ones, who're oysters as big as Atlantis, etched on with utopian dystopia, who show right to wrong, with the dim shimmery silver glow of the pearl somewhere in Atlantis.
These are the people I see. Everyday. 
Trust is all they need. 
Treasure always means to be found, you need the right map.