i write a lot of letters of love. i write because i’ve experienced. the real kind of Love. the love that becomes an existential crisis that blooms in your soul, bursts through your pores and creates an aurora for all to see. the kind of love that makes reality seem like dreams and dreams like reality. love like crack cocaine.
i write, but as of lately, i don’t have anyone to dedicate words of desire and pure, intricate emotions to. but i continue to write.
i write because when i do meet Him, my Mr. Right, my previously written words will be my ground zero. the starting place of all words. i can only elaborate off of those words. someday, i will be able to take my poem screw galileo and write about how the stars and the moons aligned to create a path from there to here. from His heart to my soul. a perfect path only suitable for us, for there was no key to the perfect path, but the perfect path only has footprints suitable for you and me. stepping stones that shook for other passerby’s but stood strong for you and i.
i think i’ll continue to write. and when He comes along, i will write out of the compulsory urge to tell the world about how galileo was a love genius.