a lover of words.
Put your pen to paper, fingertips to keyboard. That’s one. Then just flow.
There are thousands of them, they mean different to everyone. A single word; many interpretations.
As far as i can remember correctly, I started writing because I felt like the God of things, the characters I created. Do I kill them? Do I make them fall in love? It was in my hands, and just a few strokes away. And if I didn’t like it that way, I could always change.
I fell in love because it gave me a sense of control, of direction and liberation at the same time. A lot of people do not understand the liberating power of writing. Mostly they are the one’s who have never expirienced the gush of words on paper, and feelings you didn’t know you had. They’re all there, staring back at you, an epitome of your creation and possibly, a piece of your soul littered upon the paper.
It grounded me, a sense that time wasn’t flying so fast , and something to fill hot, sticky afternoons with- birthing new characters and stories.
There’s a strange wistful and relaxing sound of pencil scribbling upon paper. Dried flowers between books, hand coloured book marks, tea stained newspapers and the rustling of pages against the setting sun.
All replaced with tap-tap-tap-tap-tap- space – tap-tap-tap-tap. Upload. Available for the world to see.
Words are slippery. They flow so well if strung together. Slippery. You can fall if you aren’t too careful. Because that’s the bad thing about words: they don’t always equal actions. Words are easy. Actions aren’t.
Words can be dangerous. They hurt. They can also be comforting and kind. It’s difficult, because they don’t always evoke the meaning we want them to. You see, they are alive. Complete individuals in their own sense. They have a mind of their own.
I was so wrong. I was never in control.