Letter to the Writer
I came to you softly like a cradle song, your big eyes taking it in and little hands holding on. I kept you close to me long after the first giggles … long after your last real laugh. You didn’t realize you’d been bitten and made eternal.
I am the gateway to limitless journeys with beginnings and ends. Sometimes I’m the climax, sometimes I’m the crux. I’ve appeared as a single full moon or an endless sun, but I’m all of it and everything between. … I’m everyone.
I’m heartbreak and ecstasy. I’ve been the darkest of thoughts and broken, sacred vows. I’m even secrets that were promised to the grave. I’ve been innocence, experience, goodness, deliverance, redemption. I’ve been naked, but I’ve worn every single costume from every act you could dream up.
I’m the only connection to humanity for some. I take you into chambers where you’re terrified to look but can’t resist. I have made my share of masochists. I bust you out into the blazing light where eyes adjust or go blind. Under the hands of insanity, I’ve made many prisoners. I’ve brought villains to life and turned cowards into heroes. I’ve left many at the crossroads of uncertainty, but I can solidify conviction just the same. I can even let you rest your mind on pillowed clouds. I have many names.
I’ve made the humourless laugh, the indifferent feel compassion, the stoic choke back tears and the skeptic a believer. I’ve also soured the idealist and left a bad taste in the mouth. I’ve left you shocked and furious. I’ve left you enlightened and drenched in curiosity that you can’t wash off. It may end in utter silence or noises from the throat, but I’ve expanded and narrowed the living in every single tongue.
I’m a horse drawn carriage and a racing car, white, bunched up sheets from lovers and blood-splattered walls left to be discovered, a knight in shining armour and four horsemen on a mission. I am the sanctuary and the funhouse. … I am everything. I’m vision.
I have been as much mother and muse as I’ve been child. I’m the inspiration, not mere paint. I’m every colour of the spectrum. I’m gray. I’m shade. I’m black on white.
I’ve been both reason and madness. I’m your voice. I’m smudged ink on your left hand, the clicking sound of the keyboard, coffee stains and the near empty whiskey bottle. I’m dancing dust in sunrays and liquid thoughts in rain.
I am the Word in all its definitions, repetitions and sequences existing to both give birth and be the babe. I am all stories, true or false. I am infinite. I breathe life into the dead white until it fades.
Written by: Leni Sosa; Permanence of Wings