I’ve recently been going through a period in my life where a lot of change has happened at once.
People don’t want to see you in your writing. They want to see themselves in it.
Words stay with us, long after they’re said. Words are the way people perceive other people, the way we inspire other people and the way we caress other people.
I used to think that maybe they were cruel, those four words he spoke aloud on that last day. “I want to die.” But they weren’t cruel, they were confession. They were a hand reached out, one waiting to be grasped with loving firmness.
Sometimes, we have so many things to say when we write, but in front of the ones we love, we stop short with words.
As my pen drifts over this page, as I press the ink to paper, I am reminded of all the ways we used to love.
Writers are terrible at controlling their emotions, but they are experts at expressing them.
When you talk about your heartbreak, people are falling in love with you, when you talk about your anxiety, people are finding solace in you, when you talk about your pain, people are finding a remedy for theirs and when you talk about being lost, people are finding themselves.
Night thoughts give the ability to flee your caged day-mind and roam in a world where you can do anything.
Words matter. To all of us. My only wish is that somehow, some way, I could give those same words once given to me to every young boy and girl.