Writers are a rare breed; we tend to feel words growing in our veins, suffocating every breath, until we can translate the emotions into sentences. Yet, having the ability to feel something--anything--so strongly is both a blessing and a curse.
If I'm inspired, usually by heart beak, or my own bitter regret, I need to find the nearest pen and jot down my thoughts before I drown in my own mind. Writing is a powerful outlet. There is nothing better than seeing feelings become tangible strings of letters, flowing freely like blood from a bleeding heart.
When writers find their 'zone', nothing can deter the easy stream of words. Sounds fall silent, the vision in our peripheral vision blurs into a fuzzy dust, as every emotion bursts through our fingertips, like flowers reaching for the sun. There is no better feeling than writing while we're inspired.
But, feeling strongly is also as evil as writers block, for we are forced to withstand the trembling weight of pain. We feel regret rip through our skin and live between the crevices of our bones. Heartache scorches our every cell until we're lying on the floor gasping for breath. There's no telling what will trigger our hungry emotions.
In addition to our exposed emotion, we often write what we could never say. Half of my notebook is filled with words I wish I had said, words I could never say, and words no one will ever know are written. Our words forever embody failed relationships, ugly fights, pure love, yearning, and our dearest memories.
It's also important to note that writers don't always look like writers. You simply can not pick us out in throngs of city dwellers, unless of course, you see the prominent cut between our eyebrows as we vigorously scribble between lines in our notebooks.
