I’ve always feared oblivion; that was until I realized that if a writer fell in love with you, then you could never die. The idea of living forever allured me, and I had become engrossed in writing. With time, the realm of a pen to paper, hands to keys, or thoughts to mouth was present regardless of choice. Noticing the way some people were pompous when others were winsome buried me within the tangibility that I had a sixth sense. I figured out how to read people with such precision and shrewdness that impressions were constantly engraved in my head. There are people in the world who are as refreshing as a glass of cool yellow lemonade on a warm and sticky summer day, and there are people as grotesque and abominable as slush on the side of the road after being run over by cars hundreds of times. People aren’t just concepts or figments anymore; they become enigmas. And as much as I understand I can’t live forever, I find it quite afflicting to not try to do it for someone else.
What It's Like To Be In Love With Words
January 11, 2018