Everyone's got a story. Not one person can say they don't. Some are sad, some are happy. Some scare you, some make you feel great. Some are unfair, and some, justice gets served. And I write them down.
What people tend not to take notice, is that, when being friends with a writer, you have an unwritten contract with this person. You've just let yourself become molded and recreated in any world he deems fit. Nothing that we don't do on a normal basis, the only difference is, we write it down.
I study the human condition, my biggest past time is observing people. How they interact with each other, how millions of years of evolution have kept them killing (for the most part) each other and basically putting up with one another, and on rare occasions enjoying and missing each other's company. Now, this may not be any great thing for anyone. Everyone might do this. But what makes it weird for me, is when I partake in my own study.
I am after all human. I have the same needs and wants as everyone else (at times more so). So what happens when my involvement in my studies tend to muddle up the crystal clear pristine viewpoint that I usually have? Let's just say it's interesting.
If I fall in love, as with most, my perspective is nonexistant. I have plunged myself into the deep end of the pool. On rare occasions pulling my head above water to get my bearings, but for the most part, delved into, for lack of a better phrase, the sea of love.
I have, as of late, come out of the most loving relationship I have ever been in. I loved her more than any word here could ever merit. Six months have passed, and there wasn't a day that has went by that I don't wish I was there in her arms again. But I was able to take stock, I pulled myself out of that ocean, and when I turned around, it froze over. A thin layer of ice, just thick enough to keep me out. So I went to sit here on the beach again, like I've done so many times before, and watched. It's a lonely observation, one that God would have if I believed in such a thing. But there is serenity, a strange, lonely kind, but one nonetheless. It's hard to figure if I think I'm better or luckier than those I see, or if I'm just jealous. Might be both. I know it might sound condesending, but what can I say, I'm watching you.
Now love, is a strange thing. No one word will ever truly define it. I started to care about someone again, and she me. Talk about a match made in heaven, you would think we were twins, if not for the fact that she looked like a goddess, and I am a Mexican Hobbit. I felt my toes starting to get wet, didn't notice I was creeping into the ocean again. However, I saw the ice in the horizon, and I didn't plunge in this time. I thought to myself, if the tide takes me, let it. But I won't dive in again, not until I know. We both stood at the edge, and I can say, I was more in the water than she was. But I got out, knowing that she wasn't going in. I turned my back on the ocean again. Not forever mind you, just for now. You can never turn your back on the ocean for too long, or the waves will get you.
So here I sit on the beach, in my favorite spot, watching all of you, as some of you do as well. I know the people in the ocean aren't alone, and I know some may drown. I know I'm not the only one on the beach, but I write it down.
And once in a while, I look up from writing, and smile. Cause that ocean calls to me, as it does all of you. And my pen writes underwater.