Here, as I type, you are close.
(you are just on the other side of my sentences).

You are watching my face
trying to figure out where words
come from.

Which words really matter? Creative to meticulous. The ones that, together in a phrase, have multiple meanings—double entendres—depending on how they are read. I'm a freelance copywriter and a poet. I'm an online marketer and an editor. I'm a social media junkie and a web site blog developer. I'm a blogger and a journalist.

Is it a heart or mind that is captured when a story comes to live on the screen as if concocted as typed? A memory or imagery merges—paints itself across the screen as envisioned—with feelings and colors from a world that doesn’t quite exist, yet does.

Your tapestry speaks of histories, of memories, and of dreams once lived yet maybe not. You are a heart that I have won. Even my nervous and tender sentences do not put a dent in your undying craze over me.

You are green and blue light, swirling together. I hear you thinking. There is something about you I want to learn, grow into and hide in. I do already. You know.

The way you are looking at me now creates an incredible story in me. It goes on for days. Did you know the power of your eyes? The power of us—as my eyes connect with yours, even from the distance, even in pixels that attempt to encapsulate skin and texture?

Sometimes the words don’t come—well only the ones that no one wants to hear. These are the times when I need them the most. It’s when I desperately wish I could write a wonderful book just for me to read, so that I will believe that it’s possible to touch another being in this moment.

As the wind blows, I know why I’m a writer. Because life is in balance; like a seesaw, it tips. I see through a lens that looks for what’s interspersed as opposites—each sting has a petal. I can hear what you see when I am grateful to be alive.