I remember learning to write the word “love”. I wanted to write it everywhere. It was like magic to me, that I could put something that I thought or said onto paper. It was like seeing that word come to life. Love became tangible and I scribbled it all over my first notebook.
Soon “love” turned to “I love you” and my simple sentences became stories. I’ve used countless notebooks throughout my life to write down my thoughts or to escape into stories. I learned quickly that through writing I could create my own worlds. The problems always got solved. The people always lived happily ever after. There was a lot of drama, heartbreak and strife but in the end everyone was okay. I could control everything and put it away neatly.
It’s gotten more complicated as I got older. I’ve learned that the intricate strings of emotions and problems are not always so easy to untie. The English language is so limiting. Not every story has a happy ending. There’s not always a lesson to be learned. And a lot of things don’t make sense.
But somehow words always make sense to me even if life doesn’t. I don’t just use life to influence my words. I use my words to manage my life.