I’ve fallen in love with writing.
The rhythmic tapping of keys,
The faint scribbling of a pen,
The sound of an eraser taking away the mistakes that were born to become masterpieces.
It gave me a voice.
One that I didn’t hide
Or leave me alone in fear of judgement
One that was connected to my soul and not my body.
I couldn’t hate this voice.
The words from my mouth was a squeal of a siren in comparison;
The voice from my soul spoke as if sent from heaven for the angels to hear.
Bringing life into the inanimate characters that now dance across my page.
The voice shown to humanity pushed people away,
My heavenly voice drawing them back in with a blissful lullaby.
The voice that my pencil hears is the one I want.
Giving me an ability to sing when I can’t even bring myself to speak.
Giving a new meaning to empty words.
The pencil wrapped in my hand that had become its temporary home;
The cramp in my hand is only a side effect to this in the universe I created.
This love was unworldly,
My ethereal love boundless in a universe of rules.
My new voice heard by others will change over time,
As had the many before mine.
I’ve fallen in love with writing.
And the voice it brings.
Others may fall too,
And maybe they will fall in love with their voice
And mine.
