There are billions of people in the world, she’s quite hard to find. She might be the one chasing the time at the other side of the street to catch her class or the one sitting beside you on filled seats of jeepney or the one lined behind you in a fast food restaurant. You won’t always spot her. Sometimes she will be in her dorm room locked up, rummaging through papers on the floor to find that one criticism she was looking for. There will be times that you won’t even notice her at all because she’s too absorbed into the notebook to even surface the world. You may not know, coffee and pen are her best friends. Her one hand holding a large cup of her favorite coffee and the other’s holding her pen spilling her thoughts, feeling the ambiance helps her hand scribble words in her notes trying to write swiftly before they fade in her mind.
Date her. Date a writer because spring flowers will bloom in the deepest parts of your mind; because roots will grow like vines along the ridges of your spine. Date her and she’ll make you the sweet yet subtle petrichor that will wrinkle the nose of a local passerby. You’ll become the messy scribbles in the 1-inch margins of her tattered journal, the muffled static of her favorite tune on the FM Radio, the honeyed cup of caffeinated sweetness that she sips every Sunday 6 AMs. Bury yourself in the midst of her eager heart. She’ll find words that linger like the scent of yesteryears. They will cling to your skin like dampened cloth, sending chills along your spine and goose bumps along your nape.
Date her and she’ll make rain storms sound like poetry. Thunder will turn into song. Listen to her heart and you may hear the accents and unaccents of Shakespearean sonnets. Become love. Love.
Be the definition—that disastrous, clamorous, all-destructive albeit wonderful love. Be the motif of her life.
Bask in the warmth and light of the prose that she writes. Date her because you will run out of words from everyday surprises. Read, understand, imagine and feel every single word she writes because that is the only way to read her, to be able to see the reflections of her emotions and affections.
Her imagination cannot be held captive. Her spirit cannot be tied down. She is fragile. She is like the wind—free and untamed.
But, love her.
As she is. Not because she’s good with playing words, love her because she deserves to. Love her because she will drive you crazy and you will love and hate even doubt for her it, but you know the world comes far more alive when she’s around. Love her because she won’t forget you. Love her because you won’t forget her either.