There are moments that the words escape my mind. Times when I feel hatred for this writer. He can write in a matter of minutes. He could be eloquent if he wanted to and his written words could really resonate within the depths of one’s soul. I hate him because he does not take his talent seriously.
Clouds just float in the sky. Words are like clouds. I hate him because he could catch the clouds and immortalize them in his works. He could even catch a shooting star and make a poem out of it. He makes it looks so easy. I absolutely abhor him.
One time he made someone cry like a river. How horrid could he be? The reader said it made her think of the one he wrote about. He can even make someone laugh, smile, and his choice of words linger on to his own brother’s critical mind.
He knows about paradigm shift. A theory explained by Thomas Kuhn. He could even help you reboot your mind. I hate him so much because he died. Well, I am glad he did die. How did he die? It is not my concern.
Everybody hurts he told me once. He never really told me what hurt him. He just told me to look at the bright side of life. However, I wanted to know why, not for any other reason but to help him.
There was one afternoon we talked and he mumbled, my words will not really stick in your mind. Essentially, it is how I made you feel that counts. So, I want you to focus on the bright side of life. Life can be bleak. And life can be cruel. And life can be dark. And life can be tough. And life can be sad. And life can be blank.
He made sure that when he ended the conversation that I receive the gift he gave me. Then, his eyes lit up and he uttered the most wonderful words I have ever heard in my lifetime. He told me there would be times when I could not be here to bring you light. I want you to promise me to put your faith and hand in God’s Hand. You will never falter and you will always be protected. His Light is everlasting and He will light your day and night. Thru the hardships and thru the smooth sailing shifts of life and all thru out the decades of your own life.
There are many of us, there are many writers. We write for you to help you. One can help you build a house. One can help you plant and tend a garden. One can help you fix your car. One can help you fix your smart phone. One can help you with your math. One can help you with your science. Myriad topics that are discussed thoroughly to help you become who you want to be and most importantly who God wants you to become.
The power is in your hands. I want you to know that you could be independent. My friend, he began to whisper, God has already shone His Light on your face. Never let anyone take that Light away from you.
Then, he stood up. He walked away through the winding corridor and disappeared from my sight. And tears began to well up in my eyes and slowly flowed down my cheeks. I never saw him again for the rest of my life.
My heart hardened after that and I hated him since. I do not even like to read his works. I realized that all these times he was hurting so much. So plenty. But never did he once tell me what bothered him. I hated him for that all the more.
Metaphorically he died. He slayed his ego. He just cared about his readers. It is his purpose. And he is no longer of this world. As he had written before he writes because of you, the reader, because it is not about him but just you alone because God loves you so much.
That writer is me, my journey. An author’s simple and self-deprecating perspective of oneself.