One block left in the journalism syllabus for the year. An elective we could choose out of a range covering everything from photojournalism to long-form writing. I had intended so absolutely to dedicate my energies to photojournalism – yet swapped in a moment’s delicious decision to writing. It felt right. It felt explosion-in-your-heart, down-to-your-stomach-beautiful-moment perfect. Meant to be. Monday’s writing assignment? Why I write.
I write because there are stars hidden in human lives. Superpower moments when everything changed. When no anchors remained and we were free, terrified and strong. So crushingly, beautifully human.
When you took a chance on love. When someone took one on you.
Every time you remembered your soul. When you realised it walked with others. When you saw how beautiful they were.
When you cried. Wished. Tried. Felt like an ass. Did it all again and held your sheepish head high.
They lie in your fuck-it terror as you crossed that space between your lips and another’s for the first time.
In every moment that you felt Everything. That something so big ignited inside you that you broke into a space so endless that it felt as if it could never be filled. These are the stars… all the heartbreak-supernovas. Everburning sentinels in our remembered past.
They lie in your fuck-it terror as you crossed that space between your lips and another’s for the first time. In heartfelt letters warmed by hand and sent on fragile paper to the ends of the world. Acts of pure belief. Art burned into the skin of your life and the loves of those you danced with.
The stars lie in the smile that grows in you as you recall this.
And I write because it’s a star for me to know I made you.