With Valentine’s Day yesterday, I kind of wanted to write a letter to those who are brave enough to love us writers.
So you married a writer. At first it seemed romantic. We wrote you poems and love letters that filled your heart. We were always up for a quiet night at home with a book and a drink. Our tales were exciting and adventures whimsical. The vows we spoke on our wedding day brought you to tears.
Now it’s moving day, and you realized the number of boxes we labeled as books and notebooks. Our first fight is over what to do with them all.
Soon you realize how many nights we sit there in front of a computer screen and not let you see what we are doing. Our frustrations makes our love grown thin. You become suspicious, and one night you see we’ve fallen asleep and decide to check our computer. The words Chapter One in large letters, followed by page after page of our scribblings in various colors. Notes fill the margin. This was our hidden secret, and as you read it you start to remember some of the little things from our beginnings. You see that this was our love story, and you were our muse. We hid because it wasn’t perfect yet, and you deserve perfection from us.
Those small moments meant everything, and we want nothing more than to immortalize them and share them with the world.
Keep being brave, because sometimes our insecurities get to us. Keep being realistic because our ego can do the same.