By Farah Salam
I realized that I had fallen in love when my pen wrote words heavy with love. Each word was sodden with emotion, dripping with fear and uncertainty. Each letter intertwined with another, forming horizontal cascades along paper.
I hated you at that moment, because you were the cause. My writing was no longer apathetic, which I believed to be deep. Instead, my pieces were sappy, gushing with unwanted emotion and a lack of control. Every letter beat in tune with my heart, erratic, rushed, and crazy.
Nothing made sense. From that moment on, my words were incoherent, simply stating emotions without context. These stupid, ugly words no longer held the emotion I wished it could, because these feelings were more intense than what I could muster.
I longed to talk to you, because that’s where my words made sense, absorbed by you, no longer caressed carelessly by paper. Every day I waited for those moments, because I could see you and no longer have to resort to words to feel your beauty.
The day you left, the words became heavier, as if on purpose. I began to whittle down the words, unable to carry their weight. They became smaller, disgustingly concise, and scientific.
It was because of you I stopped writing, and started to love. I didn’t know which was worse.