Member-only story
A Love Letter to the Written Word
Stories connect us: all of us.
During tough times or gleeful ones, when anger arises or tears begin to fall, my journal and pen sit waiting and ready for me. Words are a balm imbued with magic; they help heal my soul. To write is to release: release stress but also imagination. To put pen to paper or fingertips to keys is to settle into an internal reflection, an escape as much as an intentional presence of the self.
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Writing is my companion when I have something to say but need to find the right words before they leave my lips. In writing, I can explore my darkest depths and my farthest imaginations.
I can hold infinity in the palm of my hand and make you see, in your mind’s eyes, a galaxy. I can paint the sky purple, a soft lilac shade, as rays of yellow light, like arrows, try their best to strike through the oncoming twilight. I can make you taste the saltiness of rainfall, make you smell that petrichor perfume that lingers even as the grey clouds begin to disperse, as the fog begins to lift. I can make you hear birdsong, a faraway chiming of voices so different from your own but nonetheless still beautiful. I can make all this true even if it is not in this very moment.
