It hasn't actually been that long, but it HAS been that long. I ached for the time when I could finally pour myself out onto something, and then having realized the power of paper...I couldn't.
The past couple of weeks were chaos for me. And I haven't been through all that since the ground was snatched from under me when I was eleven. I accumulated so much anguish, relief, anxiety, joy, weariness, frustration and peace that it wasn't long until I simply had to find some random toilet to vomit it all out. It was a struggle to keep it all in and sort it all out on my own. Well, maybe not completely on my own...
The only thing keeping me anchored throughout all of this was reading. I read. For the life of me, I read and kept on reading. In four days I finished three books. In a week I finished five, and now I'm half past my sixth. And it was then, while I kept my nose buried in all those pages, that I found a new appreciation for The Page, The Printed Text.
Everything came to life and suddenly had a mind of its own, lending itself onto one's consciousness. It was now history and memory and potential. It was influence and passion and dream. It was reality. And then I was afraid. I felt fear, and awe and new found respect. Paper and Print had the ability to come alive, living and breathing, not by the author, no. But, by every reader that comes and lifts off its every word.And how deeply it affected me, I cannot say. All I know is that apart from being Writer, I find I am now also Editor. It is no longer easy for me to keep the words flowing. Some have to be kept, and some restrained. Some, even, must be erased or altogether changed - deliberately. Necessarily. Because who knows how these words will be read? And unless I can guarantee that mine shall be the only pair of eyes to set on them, who knows what they can do?
And so all I've written, typed, here are not all I've wanted to say. Even though Virtual Text isn't quite as powerful as its printed counterpart, one cannot be too careful anymore.
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