Shhh, it can be our little secret.
It all started as a way to get my emotions out – jot down a poem, rant about someone who wronged me in my journal, a little side project, an essay here and there. But what I didn’t know, is that I would become obsessed with you.
Through everything I’ve been through, my words are the things that have helped me cope. People honestly thought I was crazy: “You can’t really love writing, can you?” they’d ask. But boy, what they didn’t know is that you are the one thing that I have ever been truly in love with.
And I don’t think our little love affair is so bad.
Our whole lives we seek love, little did I know I’d find it in writing my thoughts down onto paper (er.. typing them on a screen?). I especially didn’t realize how much meaning I’d place behind every text that I craft – it must be a masterpiece flowing from my fingertips, or my love for you will be lost.
As a little girl, I roamed bookstores, feeling each and every spine in between my fingertips, dreaming that my name would eventually appear on the cover of one of those novels. I need the satisfaction of leaving something behind for someone else to learn from and read, thus sparking my love for you.
I am addicted to the feeling of flow; that feeling you give me when I am on a roll, and my fingers seemingly do all the work. There is an incoherent blending of thought into action, and action into reaction. It’s physics for the art lover, a loss of self consciousness, and oh I how I crave it.
I always carry you with me in the form of a notebook or laptop, and in my room lays a typewriter. Everywhere I turn it reminds me of you. I’m only new to exploring this vast and beautiful world, but one thing I do know is that this is just the beginning and I’ll be writing until the very end. Many of us think about how we will pass, I like to think I will die writing, in some sort of poetic Hemingway fashion.
I promise to love you until the end, my bittersweet love affair.