Writing creates a paradigm.

Much like a camera, it is a paradigm that we can look through in order to see the world, or create one, from a different perspective.

I decided to step away from my art and look at the lens itself instead of looking through it.

What I found is that we are able to paint pictures with words, pictures that don’t exist and we can create artworks with those pictures that allow you to see them in the most magical way possible while knowing that each artwork is different and unique depending on the person that composes it.

It is being able to travel the world as we know it through symbols and letters while not moving an inch from where we are in time and lead ourselves to a beautiful yet twisted sense of duality.

Maybe it’s the feeling of godhood in creating life, worlds or even stories yet I am still human but I become a god outside of time.

I take my imagination and make it tangible.

They say actions speak louder than words but I am a writer and words are all I have. So, maybe one day, as these words drip from my fingertips they will find you and they will drown your thoughts with beautiful pictures and hopefully, you might just understand,

Why we write.

They say actions speak louder than words,

But there’s still a reason why the pen is mightier than the sword.

I felt lonely.

I felt it so strongly that I began to smell it, maybe that was just my decay or maybe that was just me,

No excuses.

I felt like the tortoise and the hare, except,

there was no tortoise and I was not the hare.

It was like watching the last star fade as the sun began to rise,

like watching the last light of hope leave, they left me for the passionate lover,

The lover I could never be.

I went to God for help but he just gave me the rope instead, and it was at that moment I realized,

God is dead.

And now I am too.

I imagine our lips replicating the palms of pilgrims, touching fervently with intent,

Passion

and Love.

A love for something that exists not with us,

but an epiphany, a space of mind within our own epistemological plane that you and I may dwell in,

together.  

As we fabricate a reality that exists within a space of time where it is weakened to time itself.

Our kiss is the extension of time, a creation of maddening and temporary immortality.

You and I become gods outside of time so, just like the palms of two blushing pilgrims ready stand, pray to me.

Pray to me.

And I’ll pray to you.

You were so good at origami.

You were able to fold these complex shapes and designs as if they were just exercises for you while I was okay at it, but yours were always better.

It seemed to come so easily to you and I had to try so hard, I tried to make mine as good as yours but they just wouldn't have it,

I think that's what I admired really,

the fact that you were so good that I aspired to fold simple pieces of paper as good as you, I think I fell in love with your art.

I ended up falling in love with the artist too.

But you always made them better than me.

If love is inferiority then I don't want it,

if loving you is comparing my origami to yours then I don't want it,

if my love for you fuels these words, then I don't want you reading them while you think of someone else.