letters and texts

I always get complimented on my writing. It's not just for the creative pieces or the legal memos that I write day after day. Although I suppose the praise for that never hurts.

No. The compliments are always about the writings I do at my most vulnerable. Beyond the creative mind or even my analytical one.

It's about the writings from my soul. Cliche? Maybe. But it's true.

It'll be the handwritten letters I write in my most contemplative mornings, the rarest of days that I wake up early. Or the late night texts from when I lay down for bed, my cheeks aching from laughing all night with my friends.

It is only then, that I truly write how I feel.

I tell my friends how grateful I am for them to even exist. For them to be in my life. I write of their greatest accomplishments. Especially the ones they never see. How beautiful their souls are or how kind their eyes can be. The compliments flow easy and I somehow never have to write a lie.

And though I write and I write, no one ever seems to write for me.

'Oh, but I'm not good with words like that!'

'You have such a wonderful way with words. Nothing I say could compare!'

It seems that all those in my life are lacking in this particular skill.

Or perhaps I'm not worth writing for.

Regardless, I keep writing. Waiting for the moment in which the words will come together for those I love and maybe someday I too shall receive a letter.