I think I might be weird. I mean people love different stuff, but they love stuff that make sense. And me, I love words. I think they’re magical. Beautiful. Inspirational. It’s crazy. How can someone love words? That’s what I think people say about me.
I don’t get it either. I’m not the avid reader, I’m not the most skilled writer, but I appreciate words whenever I come across them. I appreciate the writers, I appreciate the people that understand what’s been written. I appreciate it all.
I read a piece today by Zeezam, someone tweeted the link, of course I couldn’t resist and as I read it I found myself repeating ‘Me, Me, Me’ in my head. One paragraph just defined how I feel. Feel about words of course. And I was excited. It felt good! That feeling of weirdness that there’s someone out there like me. Someone that thinks nearly the same way I do. About words. About what I write. Those ‘whimsical thoughts and daydreams, purely nonsense when you look deeper really. But it’s me and it matters to me’. Yes I just quoted Zeezam.
I’m trying so hard to explain my love for words and clearly I’m not doing so well x_x. Let’s say that’s how amazing it is. My love for words.
I once wrote this…..
What I write is a piece of me, an emotion. Many emotions, wound up into words with the simplest combinations.
What I write is hardly for the satisfaction of others. Maybe for the satisfaction of self. For me to look back and remember what I felt when I wrote it.
What I write is an uplift. To make me feel more than I can imagine. To make me be what I never dreamt. To release a pain. To accept a disappointment. To let go of the past. To embrace the present. To look forward to a future.
What I write is me in letters. Me in words. Me in a pun. Me wrapped in a lyrical romance. Me being me.
Doesn’t make sense to me either.
But yeah..
I Love Words!!!

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