there will be little pieces of the people i love everywhere. they will be written in little scribbles on post it notes, on online blog posts, & in heartfelt letters that travel miles at a time. the people in my life will never wonder how i feel for them, for they live inside the words i delicately write specifically for them; i love through my words, both spoken & written, & they will live eternally within the spaces of them.
to be loved by a writer is to be loved forever. people will change throughout this life, but the written word will never disappear. i still read the letters from a 16 year old boy who once loved me-we don’t talk anymore, but i still feel the love he once had for me in the pages he slid to me in class one day. i listen to voicemails from
my mother, telling me how much she loves me, & to give her a call back when i can-she has written the most lovely things to me in the name of sacrifice & humility in lunch notes, hidden letters she lives within my belongings for me to find, & in the text messages she sends to remind me of her presence. i read the text messages from my friend ascher, who always seems to know how to speak to me in the moments i need him the most-he is a man of few words, but every word he writes to me is filled with an abundance of encouragement & belief in my capabilities.
oh to be loved by a writer, but i’m a writer. while i have yet to meet someone that writes to me as passionately as i write to others, i am humbled by the words that have been written about me. i believe that my flirtation with the written word is a God-given talent; how beautiful is it that instead of being able to sing or run as fast as lightning, God gave me the ability to write alluring messages to others. i think often of the 21 year old boy who loved me so much, that he allowed me the peace to leave the relationship. the texts he sent to me were laced with apologies & the hope that i would grant him grace on his journey; he hoped i would wait for him to get his life together, but i couldn’t & the words he wrote to me were heartbreaking, but not as heartbreaking as it was to throw in the towel on someone i cared about. i think of how desperately i hoped for a piece of mail during my basic training. how i hoped for a tangible reminder of someone’s love--that hope breed into a few dozen letters, written by those i love the most. the words written about me, by those who wouldn’t outright consider themself a writer, are proof that i am loved as hard as i love.
realizing you don’t have to tell anyone anything about yourself or your life is liberating. choosing to do so? even more. the people i love in this life will never die, their being & memories we shared will live in the pages shoved in shoe box of my closet. their life will be memorialized within the entries of this blog, accompanied by a picture of the views we shared & life we created together. i choose to go back to the pieces i’ve written for others & the pieces written for me, & it taught me that bonds are strengthened by asking for exactly what you need. something about a piece of paper with written words on it, talking about whatever someone felt the need to share with me, leaves my entire existence awestruck; it’s the most human thing ever.
with all my love,
♡steff
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