“I would have made you immortal,” a passionate William whispered to his muse, Viola, in Shakespeare in Love. With these words, the wandering spirit within me, to write, found a place to rest. Yes, it all made sense now.
There lies a beauty within the power of breathing life to feelings through words of black and white. Marvellous things happen when thoughts transcend the cages of our minds, to tangible sentences on paper. You can feel Love cutting beneath your skin, taste Jealousy at the back of your throat, hear Betrayal’s mocking remarks, and see Anger scribbled across the page. It’s an art often misunderstood ; cast away as too open, too vulnerable, too time-consuming. Ah, but what freedom comes with being its victim! It lures in the wanderers, the dreamers, the romantics, until we can no longer perceive the world but through lenses imprinted with phrases, similes, and oxymoron.
If you want a love that’s personified, choose the Writer. She will scrawl your soft lips across her skin in unfading ink, and engrave your husky voice across her heart in metaphors. You will find her, late at night, furiously documenting your scent and the taste of your words. She will write of your love in frightening imagery, and dissect your soul until you’re her favorite character.
When she looks at you, you will see her eyes travel to a world where every embrace is jot down, and every flaw of yours is turned into an art form. Yes, choose the Writer. You will give her your love, and in exchange, she will give you invincibility ; for she sees through eyes that tell of stories from faraway, and speaks with tongues from foreign lands.
She will idolize you, she will cherish you, she will immortalize you ; and when you fade, the memory of you will never die, but live on through the pages she painted you on. See, without you, there is no her. Love a Writer, be her muse ; for even long after you may forget her, she will always remember your story.