| I used to write. I had composition books on composition books full of mediocre poetry, beautiful songs, words to make you smile and probably hundreds of words to make you cry. I stopped when I met this boy. I don't know why but I did. I no longer had words. It was like with every kiss he pulled more and more words out of my soul leaving me with absolutely nothing to say. That was over six years ago. My bedroom is filled with empty notebooks and canvases from me trying to put my thoughts into something, maybe not words but something nonetheless. The boy I mentioned earlier is a classic first love. I recognize him as such because it does me no good to pretend that's not what he was. For the longest time that inhabited me from any connection. I was so cut off from the world romantically because I was obsessed with the idea that he was my soulmate, no one else could fill that void. But guess what? I was wrong. Soulmates aren't concrete. They change. When I was 16, 17, and even 18 years old yes that boy was my soulmate but we changed. I'm certainly not the girl I was back then and he's not the boy he was either hence the reason were no longer soulmates. All of this was totally an epiphany for me about three weeks ago. I laid down at 9:30 p.m. on a weekday to go to bed and couldn't close my eyes. I went over to my stack of empty notebooks, picked one up and my favorite gel pen, and sat down nestled in the corner of my room. I wrote three pages worth of words. I may turn some of them into lyrics others may remain very short sweet to the point peoms. The point being I wrote. I realized all those things about soulmates earlier that night and that's what sparked me to write again. I was hanging out with friends attempting to study for finals and one leaves and it's just me and this guy. The next hour spent talking about a million different things. We lie there on the floor of my room in opposite directions. I catch his eyes in glimpses but not steady glances. In the random words between us there was calm. At 16 I would've hated calm which was why the boy was my soulmate. He was never calm. But now six years later I love the calm. & In this moment I know the boy isn't my soulmate. I suddenly feel a sigh of relief. I feel a weight off of my shoulders at the thought that maybe this guy is my next soulmate. There is comfortability in the calm. I probably could have laid there all night. Talking about the credibility of my Himalayan salt lamp or the poor choices we've both made, why we made them. Cigarettes breaking up the too emotional subjects and laughs stemming from my random thoughts breaking up the completely not awkward silence. He left too soon. He left me craving his words, craving any words. I covet words. And for once in a very long time I have those words. I felt so much potential for my next soulmate, maybe it's the soulmate. Every writer is different. Myself as a writer is about my emotions, my loves and my soulmates. My writing has come back to me now that I'm aware of the fact I have had a soulmate and will have another and maybe even another one after the other. I'll be forever grateful for the guy who inspired me to write again. I may never see you again but if you're reading this, I owe you another beer. |
EntertainmentMay 22, 2017
I Owe You Another Beer
I catch his eyes in glimpses but not steady glances.
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