I just spent the last 24 hours stuffing my brain with words, reading and reading and rereading other's stories. Because there's so many stories that need to be read.
I mean if you they aren't read how would you know that there are people living and experience things that you never will get to experience?
You see I'm hispanic. My parents are Salvadorian but I was born and raised in America. The first language I learned to speak and read and write was Spanish, but I know that now, at 17 years old, my English is just the tiniest bit better than my Spanish, it's not because I chose this either. If I had really had a choice, I would speak Spanish much better than English but I live in a country where we are required to speak perfect English to get anywhere successfully and honestly, English is more important in any country.
Take South Africa for example, a black kid that speaks English? He's destined for greatness. But see, how would I know this if I'm not from Africa? Neither of my parents are black, none of my family is. But I read stories. I read Trevor Noah's stories of him growing up as a colored kid in South Africa during Apartheid. I read the news, I learn more about the world through stories then I do in school.
Because school thinks that the square root of x is more important than knowing that the whole planet you're living in is fucking dying while the tomato president we have in America is focused on discriminating and humiliating the same fucking races that actually do the jobs you white fuckers don't want to do.
And I get it, not all white people are the same.
But here's the thing, the same thing is said about men. Men break hearts, Men play you, Men ain't fucking shit. But not all men are the same right?
When you read the stories of others, you don't care about what race they are, if they're female or male or some other gender, you just care about their story, what they have to say. You care about what they define love as, you care about how they think life should be lived, you care about the, 'what was supposed to happen's and the 'what actually happened's.
It's hard to find someone who will actually appreciate literature for literature, someone who loves to learn more about what happens outside our bubble, someone who cares about learning as much as you do, or well, at least I do.
And yes, there's those who say "I love to read!" but the only book they've ever actually liked was that book "The Outsiders" that they read back in sixth grade, because in the movie they showed, Ponyboy was oh so hot.
See I like to read because every book I read, changes me in some way, it shifts my perspective and gives me more of an idea of how others think. And it helps because I myself an extreme over thinker. And I promise I'm not trying to be like those girls on twitter or tumblr trying to make themselves look "unique" by saying "I'm not like other girls, I don't know how to express my feelings" because the truth is, how do you express you're feelings when you don't even know what you're feelings are?
At this point I'm just ranting. But I believe that stories are important, see I barely look at the author's name until after I finish they're story because, their name doesn't define them, no, their stories do.
And you love stories as much as I do.
That's why I fell in love with you in the first place. I told you about a book I loved that was getting turned into a movie and I was so happy to see the words that had been engraved into my soul for such a long time, that I had reread them about a million times, were coming to life almost exactly the same way I had imagined them in the first place. Obviously no movie will ever compare to it's book and I knew that, but what surprised me was that you did too. You talked to me about a book you were getting delivered all the way from Europe.
You explained how that book talked about love and life and feelings that no one ever dares to speak. A book that you would later let me borrow and would inspire me to write what I'm writing. Honestly, I don't even know the point of what I'm writing but I know that with every word I write, I feel some type of weight coming off my shoulders.
I've always been terrible at expressing myself in person, I panic and become mute when it comes to talking about what's actually on my mind. But writing, writing has always helped. But yet I almost always barely pass English class, because writing essays and annotating and talking about the theme and tone of monotone, dull stories, has never really been my favorite thing.
I suck at it.
I prefer to write about things I'm passionate about, and currently, my heart and head are both aching with passion for you.
The man that literally changed my life.
I'm still in high school you know, and like every other high schooler in a very liberal American state, I smoked weed, drank alcohol, went out to party just to twerk on men and feel them rub themselves against me, I had a friends with benefits even, but he's a story for another time.
Then one day, at one of the parties, you asked for my snap, just to add someone else, not because you were interested in me yet, at least I don't think so.
I texted you first, I flirted with you first, but like the very cold and distant man that you are, you didn't notice how much I liked you, until months later when you looked me in my eyes and you noticed my hazel eyes got lighter every time I looked at you, how there was a sparkle in you and how I treated you differently from all my other friends.
But then I was the one that didn't notice that you were interested in me too. It wasn't until one day that I went to tell you about something so excitedly and I was grabbing you by the shoulders and you just grabbed me by the waist, almost involuntary I think. Like they belonged there in the first place to begin with. And then we both knew.
You never formally asked me out. But somehow one day you called me your girlfriend and I called you my boyfriend and we were for each other only but everyone else already knew because they had seen the spark since way back in January while we didn't even notice until sometime in May.
I stopped doing the things that were holding me back since December. Since the moment you asked for my snap. I haven't smoked weed or drank alcohol since that day. I never slept with that guy ever since then either.
I remember how much of a struggle it was at first for me to accept my feelings because I was 16 and you were 24.
And I know there's still people reading this and going, well what the fuck, I thought this was romantic at first but this is illegal? This is disgusting and terrible, what the fuck?
If you're one of those I ask you to stop reading right now.
My stories aren't meant for you.
