I want to write beautifully. I want to craft a sentence that pulls at your heart-strings. To put a thought to paper that makes you ache inside. When you read something that touches you, it feels like you are not reading at all; instead you just are. I have the desire to create something on this white space that suspends you in time- hung aloft in a consciousness that does not necessarily belong to you but to the whole world. In that state of being you can relate to anyone, anything because the author has told you how- they haven’t been bossy and told you what to think or feel but rather they guided you to that plane and you understood what to do. The bond between the author and yourself is unspoken for it was never necessary. You have an understanding.
It’s amazing to me, the power of a word. On its own it is just four letters- w. o. r. d. And yet one word can cause hurt, soothe pain, kill dreams, or awaken you; it is all in the power of a singular unit of letters. Never mind putting several of them together- just think of all the possibilities!
Put before me all at once, the power seems intoxicating. So much is at the will of my fingertips. How will I choose to use this opportunity? Will I move crowds to tears? Will I summon the courage in them to chase down their dreams? Will I make them feel less alone? Or worse yet, will my words make no difference? That fear is almost crippling. What if I just do not have the ability to evoke emotion, to elicit any kind of response? Is it worth even trying? That, dear reader- whoever you may be- is the question I will leave with you tonight. Maybe by putting it out there in the Great Ether the answer will find its way back to me, as answers often have the habit of doing.