Love is a strong word, one that both of us don’t like much. It means a lot of things people have decided it should mean. They shouldn’t get to choose what we mean, should they? So I won’t say I love you.
I like you a lot. I like…
breathing next to you when the morning light filters in through the glazed window pane, lighting up the furrows of your face,
sitting next to you, as you hum a song I’ve never heard before, and one I won’t ever forget now,
the way we walk together, slightly apart, and yet it feels like the air has entwined our fingers, never to let go,
our silences, and the crazy conversation, not having to pretend to be sane.
I like the fact that I don’t mind making an effort for you,
I like ‘Us’, and how effortless it is.
For as long as we have each other, and for an eternity,
I read this article on a popular blog about the custom of referring to one’s creative work as the “baby”. The author is quite sceptical of the notions involved, because as rightly pointed out, although both entail labour, the forms are not the same and to equate them would be unfair to both. I’m 21, and I’ve seen a fair number of babies, but I know precious little about having one, other than the mechanics of it. From what I’ve heard though, it is a lot of effort, but they say, it’s worth it. Speaking from personal experience in the latter sphere, I think it diverges from the former early on- writing, unlike deciding to have a baby, is not a conscious choice. I think several of my author friends would agree that the writing bug overpowers them at the weirdest of places and times- in the middle of a busy road, in the bathroom at 6 a.m., in the middle of a dream, anywhere, everywhere. It’s like a vision, once it begins, you have no choice but to let it flow. Often I have had 3 a.m. writing sessions, wherein I cannot sleep unless I pen the thoughts down right then. Choosing to keep your brainchild, of course, is your prerogative.
Writing keeps you awake and makes you lose all sense of time and space. When the story gets cranky, that reflects in the author’s persona as well. Writer’s block is nothing but your characters refusing to behave, much like an errant child. Often after a week worth of sleepless nights, coffee stains and dirty laundry, you second-guess your decision. But like the first word, or the first walk, one beautiful moment-one vividly composed scene- is all it takes to make you realize all over again just why you love your “baby”.