Because I want to write stories with you, all of them, for the rest of my days. I want to discover you, discover us, word by word, sentence by beautifully written sentence, page by wondrous page. I want to write histories and futures as they unfold to fill book upon book with tales of happily ever after because for the first time in all of my days, I believe there is such a thing.
What do you do when words are the one thing that you are good at, when they are your best form of expression; they describe who you are, what life means to you, how you feel about others, or not feel about others.
When they are used as your most powerful tool, the biggest, the strongest you have in your very limited arsenal of personal skills.
What do you do and what do you fall back on when those words start to fail, when they are not enough, when they don’t feel as significant as you think they should?
When you feel as if your words are meaningless, not descriptive enough, they don’t tell the stories anymore that you want and need them to?
What do you do, then, when you feel as if you might not be heard anymore?
What is left, then?
Because you push back. I am not in control of everything, nor should I be. Thank you for being the balance and grounding that I need. I hope that I can be or am the same for you.
“What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise.”
— Katherine Mansfield
There’s nothing in this world that makes sense if there’s no you and me.
You. Your grin. Your voice. How your voice sounds when you’re sleepy. Your laugh. The way you make me laugh. Your complicated mind. Your awkwardness. Your honesty. The way you say my name. Your words. Your lack of words. Everything. You.