The reason why I write, by Julie Martinez

There was once a boy, and this boy had the kind of laugh that kept me up at night with the uneasy thoughts of ambivalent desire I had for him.

He had the kind of half-hearted smile that showed only half of him was there, and the other part was elsewhere.

He had the kind of voice that was thick enough to spread across each hole in my Heart and mend it.

He had the kind of eyes that lit up with the pronunciation of each beautiful word that came out of his mouth.

And his hands, oh his hands; he had the kind of hands that were widespread enough to carry my soul with him, and calm my own quivering hand.

This boy was the boy I carried with me everywhere I went.

I carried him in my heart, and I carried him in my transparent smile, I carried him in my lost eyes and remorseful soul.

I carried him in every tear that dropped from my sad eyes, and I carried him in every tremble of my voice, and every tear in my laugh.

I carried him in every thought that travelled my mind, and every word that never escaped my mouth.

I carried him in every word I ever said, and in every beautifully written work of art I ever wrote.

Yes, behind every word I ever typed, there he was again, hidden in every deep sentiment of every deep thought.

This boy was a part of me, he was in me, attached to me.

I had to succumb to his languish affection.

I gave him my head, and he turned it away.

I gave him a piece of it, I gave him the whole thing, and he still turned it away.

I spoke words of genuine, and kind thought to him, and he turned me away yet again.

This is the story of my bitter-sweet love for a boy whom I carried with me (everywhere), but who turned down my ready heart.

This is the story of a boy who's lovely words manipulated my soft heart, and twisted it into a story of pity.

This is the story of a girl who cried for a boy, so desperate for his love.

This is the story of a girl who listened to the rain which reminded her of the boy she cried for.

Oh this story, this well written, unplanned story, is filled with sad extremes and uneasy feelings as the boy took her love for granted, and he took it for granted, and he took it for granted.

I loved him.

Oh I loved him with every ounce of flesh and bone in my body.

I loved him so much that I could no longer contain it inside of me, and had to pour out my love into these words and sentences that have him hidden in every passage.

I loved him so much that my heart shrivelled away and my mind became consumed with thoughts of only him.

I could no longer contain it, and I had to write, and my love that I once had for him, became the new-found love I now have for my writing.