a testament to love

you're mine, somewhere

I reminisce on the same people and feelings and experiences over and over again at the moment. In everything I write, I face my feelings and tears. In every person I meet, I see my love and in every new word I learn, I am changed. A new word in my dictionary and a new experience in my puzzle of life.

I witness myself, living and loving.

I crave with such an intensity, it scares me. It makes me cry in the middle of the night after waking up from another dream you inhabited. I crave to write you, my love. I crave to touch and meet you all over again. Love has always been around my life. From my childhood to new adulthood. It’s everywhere and I got it gifted from multiple people from the past. My Mama showed me what love is and always told me love stories as lullabies. Probably the most significant reason why I write another love novel after another. We have all the sacred poems I write for boys and girls who I used to love. We have all these Spotify playlists I still chase after to get them private since they changed them all to public. We have all the photos dig into family albums and posters on my wall. We have all notebooks that declare my love to anyone, really. I am a person who loves. I choose to love.

Finishing the very last steps of the publishing process of “It was her”, yearning to read it in full-length printed on paper expands to an ongoing reach. I wanna hold it in my hands and hug it and say “Fuck, I’ve written this shit!” It’s obviously no shit, it’s a good novel and if you haven’t bought it yet, today marks the last week to get it as a signed hardback.