I'm a Writer

I'm a writer. Not by trade or training or even by conscious desire. One day I just started, and now I can't stop. That's how gifts go though. If you worked for it- it would be a reward, if you trained for it -a check off the bucket list. But if you just find it-its a little tender mercy, a little piece of heaven that answers a question you'd never been able to voice. And that's what writing does for me Sometimes my fingers flow over the keypad the way others' flow over a keyboard of a baby grand. I see them in my mind, dressed to the nines they sit at the bench with poise, swaying with the feeling of the sound they're producing. Its the same way my brow furrows or head tilts with the emotion of the words I write. I tap each key, some more slowly, as I decide whether I'll let myself be that honest, others I strike quick my only struggle to get the words out of my head and out into the world fast enough. Sometimes though there is the long silence as I hold my finger down on the "backspace" button, realizing that I could never put that out into the world. Not bold enough for that one. Those are sentences that are best left unsaid. After pondering on that for a brief second I start again. Fast, faster, even faster as I rush to attempt to portray the emotion I feel in a way that allows all others in the world to comprehend. For that truly is the power of the written word; to allow others to feel each slight drop of rain on your nose as it gently begins falling, quietly, intermittently on your face or the feeling of slow dread creeping into your soul that second after the sentence flies from your mouth, that moment when shame meets disappointment and there is no one word to say it.

Writing does that.

More importantly it allows others to feel the passion of that discovery you made, that one that changed your life.

Words allow for you to share that with others in a way no other art form does. Words have a power, an ability to let others into your soul, and in doing so, change the beholders soul as well.

Its the most intimate of the arts; bearing your soul. My fingers still dance across the keypad. Making a noise that to me sounds even greater than that of a piano concerto. My head tilts as I sigh, and continue forward. Yes, I am a writer.