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Eight Months of Love

Eight Months of Love

To me, the beautiful thing about writing is that everyone has the ability to do it and to do it well. Some call it talent, but I beg to differ. There’s no talent in writing — there’s talent in how you use the words you write to ignite something in those who read. There’s talent in how twenty-six letters in the alphabet have the ability to form words that resonate in hearts. Talent is using words to make people feel.

So it’s been eight months. Eight long months of love. Loving my writing all while embracing its flaws. For eight months, since my last blog post, I’ve been my own biggest supporter and my own greatest critic. I’ve pondered on the many questions I receive from others that constantly resurface. “Do you still write?” “What’s the point of a blog?” “What do you plan to do with your writing?” Well, here is what I plan to do. Nothing. I plan to do absolutely nothing with my writing except to keep at it, because to me, hobbies aren’t always meant to be pursued, they’re not always meant have end goals, and sometimes you do it simply because you love to.

I knew that the pieces I wrote would be nitpicked, loved by some but criticized by many, and that’s helped me grow — but the beautiful thing about writing for yourself is that the ink in this pen is the only thing that could never tell you that you’re wrong.

But beyond that, writing to me has been the greatest form of flattery. It compliments me because every time I look down at this lined paper, I see a reflection of the beauty that lies within my mind. And although keeping my writing to myself over the past eight months has been nice, I realized that I publish because when others read, I grow an unbreakable bond with strangers; a mental connection brought by the strength of words. And that’s the beauty in writing; every mind has its own way of reading.

And, well, writing — writing is a friend. It’s what listens without ears and what has a voice without a tone of its own. It’s parallel to the beauty that musicians find in a beat, and it’s how photographers feel after they’ve used a mechanical lens to capture a moment they can now keep forever. So write. I would urge everyone in the world to write. Express yourself. Publish if you want to. Bond with strangers, or simply bond with yourself. It could be the greatest thing or just a paper filled with unprocessed thoughts. And when you write, know that it doesn’t have to be seen by anyone and that your eyes are enough. I assure you that when you read it, you will ignite that something within yourself. It’ll mark the day when your eyes have finally met your mind, something a long the lines of what people describe as “love at first sight.” So to the stranger who might be reading this, I may not know your name, but if anything I’ve written has resonated with you, know that you are indeed with me too, because you’re just another reason why I love to write.

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Written by Kowthar A. Yabarow

Image from First Friday Wordsmiths

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