I did not choose you; you choose me. Why I first picked up a pen and let my hand run rampant amongst my thoughts, I do not know. You put the thoughts, rapid fire growing seeds, in my brain. You begged my hand to feel the smooth caress of the paper beneath me, to throw you all over the page haphazardly and passionate or neatly controlled and organized. You smiled when you saw the page filled in all its silky glory, didn’t you? My heart is tied by you, but my hands are not… they are set free and running, endless inspiration transferring from brain to hand and back. You have thrown me into the fire, hoping that I would unleash.
You were right.
You were there for me when I couldn’t speak. You set me free when my tongue was tied. You allowed me the freedom to scream, curse, cry, love, hate, feel indifferent, find comfort, and seek to change. You let me reach others when they seemed out of reach. You have, at times, been my only friend, my only true confidant.
I have put it all on paper, the highs, and the lows. I have found endless inspiration and sprawled words on page. I must yield to you, even though you don’t bring me riches or notoriety or fame. I put it all into you, because it’s the only choice. I do this only for me, and for you.
There may never be glory, my name may never be spoken in any “circles” be they right or wrong. My words may never strike a person so deep that they feel as if I’m talking directly to them. No. They may fall here now, on this page, and stay here forever, eternally waiting, eternally unread. And yet, writing, I cannot release you. I hold you, run to you every day, with a need to put pen to paper and let the words wash the page in whatever emotion the moment brings.
We are star crossed lovers, you and I, forever dwelling in unrequited love.
I will never give you up, and you will always hold me in your grip. You have plagued me, you have pained me, you have helped me…but most of all, you have set me free.