For the love of writers.
You create worlds and I admire you for that.
You give birth to words, granting them lives of their own, no matter how beautiful or distorted, never favoring some over some, and I love you for that.
You expand my mind by dwelling deep into yours, you show me different angles, other versions of truth, and for that I am eternally grateful to you.
You are an observer of the heart, it’s such a rare gift, taking notice to all the throbbing and the slightest unrest, reminding me that I’m constantly made and broke by your words.
The tenderness of your thoughts, the way you hang on to fragile threads and hold on to forever gone beings, it aches my heart the misery you bring upon yourself and I give you my soul for the feels you bring.
The prosperity of your imagined world, changing the seasons of your spirit from agitation to calmness, from clarity to confusion, longing for poise only to be troubled so soon.
You wake up the angels and demons of my being and I know I am not the same like before stepping into your world.
