I love words.
I love the way they sound, and roll off my tongue. (Which means I love to talk! J). I love how they look when they’re arranged in a beautiful sentence. I guess that’s why I write. I love words; I just have to use them, and thus I attempt to write. Some days writing is so fulfilling. Ideas, sentences and words form themselves in my brain and flow into my fingertips beautifully, making me happy and content. Other days, the words seem to fly away to other places, other skies and other people, and I just can’t write. Those days, writing is frustrating and difficult, and all I want to do is scream and maybe cry.
I live for the days when the words come and flow out of my fingertips. And I push through the days the words insist on playing tag and evade my thoughts and fingers like little children playing hide-and-go-seek.
I love words. So I shall name myself a stalker of beautiful words, a vicious reader, and perhaps even a writer.