Writing. My love language.

I am impatient. Painfully so.
Why does this stew take four hours to simmer? And who’s got time to read these flat pack instructions? Usually I don’t. If there is one thing I press the pause button for, it’s writing. This can be a painful process, too. But I like to poke my finger in the ink-seeping wound. Get into the very detail of a story. Dissect it. Slice it into words. Find better ones. And turn them into more than letters in a line. Turn them into emotions.

People say writing is thinking on paper. I would add: It’s feeling on paper. A love letter. A condolence card. A goodbye e-mail to your favourite colleague. Writing gives a slice of your soul to someone else. And even though words might be fleeting. Feelings never are.