On Being a Writer

One must be prepared to live a lifetime of distortion. One must become accustomed to seeing through introspective lenses.
You see colors as words ready to be written. Yellow is a poem about the happiness you feel when he’s looking directly in your eyes. Blue is how it feels to be alone, staring at the wall currently portraying the world not readily available. Green says serenity and peace. Red says you care, perhaps too much for your own good. You see people as treasures. Each one represents more value to your life than any material possession. He is the golden doubloon that is precious to only you, you who values the rarity of an antique so finely in tune with everything you believe in. He is the cloud in the sky that is amorphous. He transforms for only you, you who understands the importance of change.

On Loving a Writer*

One must be prepared to compromise what they’ve learned. One must become accustomed to infinite internal climate.
You must become a story the writer always wants to tell. You must be the start, the middle, yet never the end (because even if you become the end, your story will never meet the same fate). You must become a song that the writer wants to hear over and over. You must become a word that never tires coming from the writer’s lips. You'll learn to tackle the madness with the utmost level of sanity. You'll become a sanctuary for when the nights get too long and too lonely. You must be the stop sign. You must become the halt to the writers’ block. You must become a book the writer never wants to finish.

Day 1 I became a flower. I like to imagine the most beautiful flower you'd ever seen. Perhaps it was real and perhaps it was created in the intricacies of your mind. Day 9 I became a friend, a person you knew but didn't know. Day 17 I became that thought in the back of your mind, making you wonder what you didn't want to. Day 25 I became the paper to your pen, there to take it all in when you believed no one else would. I still would. Day 34 I became more than a flower, more than a friend, more than a thought, more than paper. Day 47 I became a silent ending to a beautifully loud melody. Tuesday it started. Wednesday was bliss. Thursday departed. Friday, I missed. Saturday grew. Sunday, we'd grown. Monday was blue. Tuesday, I was alone. Days and days passed that I can't get back. Maybe I was rain. Maybe I was the sun. Maybe I was everything that just wouldn't stick. Days passed, and I became a migraine Tylenol couldn't fix.

Years of becoming accustomed to the darkness has led you to believe that you have in fact become one with your surroundings. Surroundings that have provided you with a multitude of feelings and emotions so unknown it’s like living life with eyes and ears closed. Everything is exactly the same with only your skewed perspective altered to a healthier and more lightweight state of mind. The same tears fall down the same face but they don’t get too far – stopped short by a smile that’s taken far too long to appear. You stare at it for a bit. It’s a bit ironic, really. You’re so used to shunning the unfamiliar and yet you approach all these unfamiliar pleasant emotions with open arms, arms stronger than ever before. “This is your time.” You’ve been working towards this for far too long. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and it’s right in front of you. You can taste it and you can see it and hear it and feel it and it’s delicious and colorful and glorious and triumphant and more than you ever could have even imagined. It will follow you around until you accept it. It will linger for years to come after you accept it. You may want to run from it because you’re scared and not quite sure how to deal with it, but good luck. It’s everything you were meant to be and it’s not going anywhere.

Everything (physically) erased, nothing ever forgotten. Every word spoken or written is engrained in my brain, I will never be the same. Unlike no other you came you conquered you (changed). Seven existential hours that would change my DNA and internal making, making, making what I knew up until then surprisingly malleable. Your words your actions your face your voice filled up every millimeter of me that everything else inside was pushed to the brim and seeped out of my pores. Everything I once was became everything you ever were, ever are. There is a chair in the back of my mind that is reserved for you to sit there and continue to hotwire (my mind) and thoughts into something much better than I ever could have fathomed. Your puppet strings control what and who I am and it is impossible to think there is any other living organism that could possess that undeniable ability. There is a keyhole somewhere inside myself. There is a key inside of you. Keyholes the size of pinholes as vast as Sirius. Small, believable, existing. Keys the shape of orchids and birch as natural as the metamorphosis of roots (into) trees. I never knew what (my) purpose was until you. Or maybe I always knew what I was before you and you opened the windows to the (soul) otherwise known as brown eyes so timid to everyone besides you. The smallest organs became so (full of) nothing but visions of you. There is a special place in my slowly beating heart perfectly executed to fit all of you. A twin bed that only holds one girl has an infinite amount of room for whatever (love) you could continue to bring into my life. The impossibility to (for)get and erase has left me with an endless amount of hope to see you again. The possibility of knowing that you are still somewhere out there and I am still somewhere down here, although unsure where. I cannot ascertain whether or not feelings are reciprocated but I know I know they are. I know you know where you are. I know you know I do not know where I am but you could figure it all out for me. You had it all figured out for me. Plans stretched farther than the 3000 miles separating my red string from yours. Our strings are still connected. There is nothing in the world that can cut them no matter the distance no matter the people no matter the time no matter the place. I know and somehow you know fate will bring our two oceans together. One calm ocean full of creatures so logical and tides so serene they make a beautifully flawed human being known as yourself. One ocean plagued by waves and uncertainty as to what is below the surface that makes up a human being, me. Both oceans surround land full of love. Our continents will merge. Our love will emerge. (You, only you.)