I haven\’t met many people in my life who wanted to be a writer. Chris is one of the few. In some way, that\’s probably what attracted me to him–the writer\’s heart.
But he is so much more aware than me about literature. As he talks about the wonders of poetry, I can\’t help but feel that I am just a…wannabe in writing. I am pretentious. I want to be something I am not. I am faking it. So I say nothing, trying not to embarrass myself.
And yet I know it\’s all nonjudgemental. But am I really a great writer? I have always been surrounded by people who think my writing is amazing–but these people are often not schooled in literature. Their passion is not in writing and so they view my work…with an amateur eye. And that\’s all.
I am cold, alone in my bed. Missing the deep-seated words of belonging.