that’s what i mean, my angel. when i say you make me want to write. you changed the very foundation of my philosophy in writing. and you think you haven’t done enough for me? that’s laughable.

i want to write for love in the same way i choose you again, and again, and again, every day, despite my fears. despite your fears. i want to write for the kind of love that is persistent. persevering. almost bothersome with how much it invades my life.

but you know what, my angel? i want to write for love. i want to write for love in the sense that i choose it everyday. i want it, i love it, and i make a conscious effort to make time for it.

i think i know why i stopped writing. i wrote to kill. I wrote to maim. to destroy the people who wronged me. i wrote as a means for revenge — but somewhere along the line i stopped wishing for vengeance. and i, essentially, lost my will to write alongside it.

when i’m with you, the pressure disappears and it’s replaced only with desire, adoration, and… love.

blocked /j