I wrote a love note to a boy once. With intricately placed adjectives and sweet words, I told him how his smile was the sunrise that awoke my soul. I told him how his voice bounced around my head like shooting stars on a lovely night, putting me in a place I’ve never been. I thought of every metaphor that would properly explain how I longed to be the morning dew, placed gently on him, the grass. It was beautiful. I explained how his eyes were a calming escape. He was my escape. I beautifully placed all these sentences onto thin blue lines so he’d know exactly how I felt.
He wrote me back and told me to eat shit.
That’s when I knew I wanted to be a writer.
So here I am today, no longer writing love letters to
assholes boys but still trying to create masterpieces out of broken words and disturbing thoughts. In the process of trying to find myself as a writer, I’ve ultimately began to find myself as a person. I know it sounds super cliche but it’s true. Day by day, I realize how much of a beautiful, crazy, spontaneous, bubbly, shiny, outrageous, loud, quiet, flamboyant, FEARLESS young woman I am and I love it!