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ecstacy
Monday, June 11, 2012, 5:31 AM

"Why do you write?" he asked.

"Why do I write? Well, why do you breathe, or eat, or shower?" she responded, staring back at him like he's lost his mind.

"I do it because I have to. I breathe because if I don't, I'll die. I eat because if I don't, I'll die. I shower because I have to," confused by her explanation, he asked again, "but you still haven't answered the question - why do you write?"

"If you must know, I write because if I don't, I'll die." You could see the corners of her lips slowly curling up, treating him to a coy smile which almost drove him mad. "I don't get it. You write because if you don't, you'll die? How does that even make sense?!"

"It makes perfect sense! I write because it's the only escape I have. You probably wouldn't understand, though. My entire life, I've had to face the world all by myself. My parents, my sisters, my brothers, they don't care. They act like they do, but they really don't. I would know, because I write. You see, when you write, you develop something - a new perspective, a new sense. You develop an intuition to guide you through the rough grounds of what we call 'life'. With these new-found abilities, it makes it easier to manoeuvre through reality without completely losing yourself." she explained. He tried to fathom, but to no avail. She could read it all over his face - confusion with a hint of curiosity.

"Okay, you wanna know why I really write? I'll let you in on a little secret: It's because I have absolutely no one to share my life with. I never realised how sad my life is until recently, when you came into the picture. I never actually cared about not having somebody else in my life. I was fine with what I had. I write, and writing was all I did, and loved. It healed me, literally saved me from obscurity. When I write, I feel as if I'm somebody. I feel wanted, I feel needed. My writing, is a part of me. Nobody actually knows how I've completely indulged myself in words. I thought I was fine, honestly."

At first, she sounded enthusiastic to be explaining her love of writing to him, but after a while, it seemed as though it was starting to hurt her. There was still a smile on her face, but he knew. Oh boy, did he knew. Slowly, he reached over and grabbed her hand. Their fingers now intertwined, she continued on with her explanation.

"But here's the funny part - you only realise how alone you really are when you have the urge to share a thought with someone, and there is no one you can go to. I write about it, but that's about as far as I could go, in terms of letting it all out. As much as I love it, I also hated it. It kept me away from life, which was fine at first, but after a while, it kind of destroys you." her smile slowly turned into a mild frown, probably due to the realisation that writing is keeping her alive, but at the same time, it's disconnecting her mind from reality altogether.

"I've never met somebody who writes as passionately as you do. It's very....... refreshing. I love that about you. You never cared about what others think of you, you just write because it's what you do. You write to escape the world, you write to let go, you write because if you don't, well... you'll die. I get it now." he told her, his arms now around her waist. "I still don't understand one thing though - what exactly do you mean by never realising how sad your life is until you met me?"

"Well, before you, the only way I could be myself and feel free was when I write. I don't know why, but being with you makes me feel all the things I feel when I'm writing. You make me feel good. You made me realise how much I've been missing in my life. I-I've never been one to open up about anything to anyone. For some reason, you made it easy for me to open up. You should really feel special, you know. I've never let my guard down with anybody before, not even my own family. I don't know, with you, everything seems..... simpler. It's almost as if you gave me life when you showed up. You're like..... you're like cursive in a sea of words - no matter how many words there are, you're the one that stands out to me the most."

He could feel her wall slowly disappearing. Her eyes are now glimmering brighter than anything he has ever seen. They're the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. Everything about her seems perfect to him now. Every blink of the eye, every word from her mouth, even every strand of her hair. She is perfect, he thought to himself. They shifted closer and closer towards each other, faces now just inches away - further enough that their lips are barely touching but close enough for them to hear every single breath. For the first time in both their lives, they feel infinite. Like anything is possible and nothing can go wrong. He knew it, and she knew it too. Right before anything else could happen, he heard those words. Words that mean absolutely nothing when separated, but together? They sounded almost like a symphony coming out from that pretty little mouth of hers.

"I'm yours," she whispered softly under her breath.

He did it. He actually did it.

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