He Said

"You must write," he said. " You have a way with words. You stir me like no one has before. You are amazing."

"What must I write then?" I ask.

" I don't know. Just write."

" Write what? I do not know where to begin. A story has a beginning and an end, that's all I know. But to tell it; to write it, where do I start? Does it really start at the beginning? Some stories start at the end. Does it start wherever I start telling it then?"

" Do I start at the first scene? What is the first scene? The first scene can be the end too, right?"

"Most of the time, I only have these thoughts streaming in my head. These reflections just come to me like frenzied feeding Koi in a pond. And more often than not, moments with you are the crumbs that feed them."

"Just write," he says again. " You MUST write."

" What MUST I write about? Words I express, I always mean. They are meant to reach someone, move someone, change someone. Just one. Often you."

"If I MUST write, I should write about whatever I write to you; whatever we talk about.  I should write the way I speak to you; pleading, angry, enthusiastic or  sarcastic, as I please; to reach you, move you, change you.."

"If I must write, you must realize I can only write to you. I can only write for you; intimate, impassioned. I am ready, when you are. I write as I am."

" Are you ready then to read me? Are you sure you want people to read me? Are you sure you want people to read about you? "