There was a time, back in my history where I made friends with brilliant young poets and writers. They wrote things that intrigued me, warmed me, made me uncomfortable and made me crave more. They wrote beautiful notes and I identified with them in ways I can never describe fully, because I am too old and because the feelings were for a magical age that is long past. One of these writers happened to be my first boyfriend at 13 years old, and by the time he was 15 he was writing things that were so deep and wonderful I craved more. He was shy with his works, but when he shared it was with a select few of us. We would sit in dark coffee houses, drinking darker coffee and talking in terms of eternity. I miss that time, but mostly I miss his words. Now here’s the crazy thing, I have been thinking about his writing a lot lately. I have contemplated messaging him and telling him how his words have impacted my life, and yesterday on Facebook he announced he had launched a blog featuring his poetry. I won’t share it here, because A) I didn’t ask permission & B) I am slightly selfish and don’t want to share it until I have gotten to read through it.
What is the point you may be asking? The point is that his bravery and beauty have reminded me to write no matter what. It helps that my Mom ( one of my biggest supporters) posted a message to me here yesterday encouraging me to write as well. Any way, I just want to give an anonymous shout out to you magical writers out there, keep filling the world with your wonder and bravery and I will do my best as well.
And you my dear old friend, thank you for sharing your gift again. I can still hear your voice reading aloud to us in those dark rooms, in big couches, leaning against your shoulder as your musical lyrical words floated toward us.