I was never too big on reading books, but I used to date an avid reader. So now I buy books because he would’ve wanted me to read a lot. The longer the book, the better the soul. I was never a writer, but I fell in love at 17 and I’ve not been the same person since. I wrote my first poem and yes, it was super duper cheesy. But he loved it and I read it. I was never passionate about anything until I found the perfect little smile, the passing days are just ghosts we try to contact. I was never big on being too artistic, but once your heart overflows and I like you no longer says enough– you find other ways to express yourself. A love letter a day, a poem a day– I wouldn’t be writing about this particular person, but you’ve asked, so it’ll come to light. I still suck at saying no, but damn it I’m learning. I used to be a soft feather when it came to intimacy, nowadays I’m coming back to myself, nowadays I’m rewriting my wrongs. I’m not perfect. I’m not a poet. I’m not an artist. I’m not anything really. I’m just parts of people who used to like me, they liked to dip their ink and leave me notes where it’d hurt. They loved to love and I loved to love them. That’s the hardest thing about those people, they’re more than you’d like to admit because without them, there would be no poetry. I’m thankful for that.