Thursday, December 3, 2015

Hold me closer until our eyes meet...

I can't believe I've been doing this for as long as I have. While time rushes by, friends leave, lovers break my heart and family crumbles, all of you and what we created seems to be my only constant. Writing words no one reads, and reading words I've already written, can ease my pain even when the windows shutter from the rain and thunder raging outside. Here I feel safe - like there is nothing I could do to fail. The outside world gets really hard at certain points, but it's truly the only thing that makes me burst from life. Sometimes I have to run home, just so I can pour my heart into sentences that have somehow already been composed. I miss out on chances, only to find myself not giving them a second thought, because against all odds, I'm happiest when I'm alone and with all of you.


We are here and we are writers, because someone needs to tell these tales. Those when the battles of love are fought and won and lost. There is magic in our bits of overlapping narrative, never forget that. Because it's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is our role, our gift. Others, who do not bear this curse, are far more likely to survive into the future, but we have the power to shape it. Do not forget that, I beg you, for there are many kinds of magic, after all.