When I started writing it was mostly poetry; the tragedy of love I dare say and the loneliness unrequited love brings.
It was writing from a point of brokenness (aren’t we all) my, salvation for the girl behind the blinking cursor. Not for the audience. Maybe not for the 12 people who read my work, but for my freedom. For understanding of emotions in a teenagers brain.
Later on I started getting an audience and I needed to not ‘seem hurt’ in all my posts. That’s what my readers said. It was bad for business or in this case for a start up blog. I needed to get more content.
It’s however very easy to forget why you write. In writing class they called it the big WHY. That’s the core of your writing. As soon as the numbers start shooting up you write for others and not for you.
I still haven’t found my big why yet. In the meantime here’s something for old times sake since we’re reading Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
Dear Perfect Stranger,
I have your letters stored away,
They have everything,
The day we met, when we held hands, when we kissed,
They have our life together,
The long and short version.
I knew today would come,
When my heart couldn’t shut,
When my brain would budge,
When my body had had enough,
It would have to be in the dead of night.
For it is in these ungodly hours,
In the wake of darkness,
In the storm of silence,
And in the crowd of solitude
That your memories decided to echo.
I want answers I cannot seek,
I need a heart in exchange of mine,
I pray for peace and soundness for thine,
But of this I have none,
Only the illusion of a stranger for a lover.
I will hold my peace,
For I know what it means,
To love and not be loved,
To be but not to become
A perfect replica mistakes already made.
As I remain silent however,
I dare not ruin the discourse of the universe,
I dare say the stars have spoken,
For who am I to question destiny?
Is a mere mortal’s ache worthy of a galaxies trade?
I am a Romeo,
“Is love a tender thing?
“It is too rough, too rude,
“And it pricks like a thorn
I as he am “too sore enpierced with his shaft,
“under love’s heavy burden do I sink,
I thought I drowned the pain,
But now it floats,
It swims on in both camps.
I err if I say I love you,
Because he who I loved has ceased to exist,
Like leaves in autumn,
I have questioned how the earth stole thee from me,
But in the wake of wasted times I will carry my love away.
So perfect stranger, stay Blue until next June.