envious.

i think writing is beautiful. did i ever tell you that? not my own, i could never truly be a "writer," as sad as that makes me. For me, it was something that allowed me to pretend i could think correctly if i could make it sound pretty on a page. now i think words are glorious. which gets tricky, i suppose.

it's always been easier to write what i was thinking rather than say it outloud. maybe it is the time i am consequently allowed to think about it - i've never been very good under pressure. maybe it's my introverted-ness... jotting things down for myself seemed much easier than investing that into someone else, giving them thoughts that were once only mine... doesn't that make sense? let me write it down... then decide if you should - would want - to hear it. then, if i do decide to give it away, it's like washing my hands of it, which is always a plus. take this away from me, it's not just my problem/issue/emotion/thought anymore - it's ours.

anyway. writers. they're glorious. i think everyone with a talent is a gorgeous person, but i feel sometimes as though anyone who can make me feel something out of their words is amazing. i think that's why i like to read so much. take me somewhere else for a second - teach me how to do that - it's incredible. i have a fascination with it.

so our campus lit magazine came out recently, and i don't know why it is exactly, but i want to shake the hands of everyone featured in it [with the exception of the crazy-curly red haired boy that was in my education block with me last semester, that i knew too well slash not enough to hear his poem with apprx. 15 stanzas regarding sex. i actually gagged outloud when reading it. no thanks. although i'm sure it was a lovely poem...]. i wish i could be as elegant as these random kids...

out of all the pieces, the ones written by men re: their heartache impressed me the most. to put anything under the "creative non-fiction" category obviously impresseses me, but for guys to put there heart and life out like this... i can't even explain it. i wish i could meet them all. really. 'good for you,' i think i would say. 'i enjoyed reading about your heartbreak, your house, your attempted suicide. keep on truckin'.' perhaps it's because i've never known a boy to actively speak about what the fuck he is thinking so honestly, purely. i admire it.

so that's my story of the day. i would like a talent. i'm going to start looking.