Why I Write?
Someone asked me once, “How do you want your next love to be?”
I couldn’t answer it simply. I still can’t.
My answer to it would be, as honest as I can make it.
I want my next love to feel like my first. Genuine. Connected. The kind where someone is concerned about you without being asked to be. Where you feel loved not because they say it, but because of who you become around them, and who they become because of you.
My first love gave me that.
Not in fragments, not in moments I had to go looking for. It gave me that feeling completely, like a thousand stars all at once, every single day of it. I was stubborn through all of it, and I probably will be again. That’s not a flaw I’m trying to fix before the next one. It’s just who I am inside love.
I’ve stopped pretending otherwise.
But there’s one thing I’d want different this time.
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I want it to be loud enough that it gets caught.
Not by friends. Not by the noise of society watching from the outside.
But by family.
The people who were there before the love started, and who’ll still be there long after.
That’s a different kind of witness than most people ask for. Friends cheer you on. Society judges from a distance. But family carries it with you. If it’s real, I want the people who’ve known me longest to see it too.
Thing which I think it gets complicated is,
People say those who’ve been in love, or broken by it, are the ones who start writing. That writing only comes from a wound, something you’re trying to speak your way out of.
I don’t agree.
My first love didn’t break me. It gave me more than I knew how to hold. And somewhere in trying to hold all of it, I started writing, not to heal from something, but because something that good needed somewhere to go.
People who write become the love of everyone.
Not as a person someone can hold. Not in the way my first love held me. But through their words. Through the thoughts they leave behind for a stranger to read at 1am and feel a little less alone.
My first love taught me what genuine feels like.
My writing is my way of carrying that feeling forward, to people I’ll never meet.
Maybe that’s enough for now.
