I write in words and ink but live in blood and tears.
That's really all the difference.
Because my written thoughts are black and white and clear.
Ink.
And my life is a whirlwind of energy and ****** oceans. Intense and swirling waters. Constant waves lapping up the shore.
Blood.
Beautiful. Ceaseless. Sometimes dangerous.
And words written in ink may seem more perfect but life's written in blood. So I dare to write in blood.
Because blood is warm. And  life. And connection.
And I want to provide warmth, life and connection more than perfection.
Because it's what I want to receive.
They say that blood is thicker than water. But I think that blood may be thinner than ink.
Because the perfectly spoken word can be as warm and connecting and life giving as the complete and imperfect  human beings that I meet.
When in loneliness and hurt and low  in energy. When the fear is in meeting with other people, in connecting with them.  When I can't tolerate the warmth that might come from risking connection. Maybe because I fear burning up from the heat.  and maybe for i  feel like a candle that's been burned to it's end. And I  am afraid that I cant endure any more burning.
But.
Ink. On paper. When brought to my nearly dying flame, suddenly causes flames. I catch on fire.
I've found connection in people and paper.
I've found love in blood and ink.
Because in both I've found you and some new parts of myself.