I've loved words for as long as I could read.
their ability to convey smells, and sounds, and taste; to make you laugh and cry and keep you hostage within the world they've created,
a world that did not exist until you've opened the cover...
the warmth that comes with feeling my eyes making contact with the words on the page and have meaning rise up and echo in my head...
stopping at times because I needed to savor them for a second longer: somber, wistful, corporal...
as a child, I remember frequently retreating in my head, arranging and re-arranging the same sentence, over and over again, for hours, looking for the perfect formula that, of course, did not exist
it's really no surprise that it's taken me 25 years to unearth this desire to write...
publicly accountable this time, as a grand gesture of courage and stupidity (same difference?)
at the risk of tumbling head first into embarrassment, I'm now attempting to do in words what I had previously only done in thoughts...
the greatest gift of all.
I'll see you tomorrow.
