Wattpad calls onto me like a tender lover, awakening me from my malnourished slumber on top of my notebook, the touch of revision lost upon it.
"They're reading your fic! They commented! Look at the comment!" It beams, eyes bright like a buttercup under your chin.
Woah! Dazzling! Showstopping!
I gasp a gasp of excitement, throwing away my poetry revision to focus on my love, my life's work, my constant reminder to live! It comes to me in a flurry, the joy, the impenetrable urge for validation upon my existence. The mild horror of the effort I have squeezed into this dying economy for free is not to surpass my unquenchable passion. I so desired something much different in my youth, and yet I prevailed touchscreen, writing literary works perhaps not up to par with the ages of Dostoevsky or poets from war-ravaged lands. And yet. This one reminder of my love to be proven, noticed, admired... It was enough.
I hold my breath, opening my eyes to see the english lexicon flash against my retinas:
"what's in the drawer"
My smile fades as I shut my device, scream profusely, and move to Argentina.