Pen, Paper, & Soul

I don't consider myself a writer, but I do love the way in which I place words together, and wouldn't it be selfish of me to not share the thing that makes up who I am. In whatever phase that I'm in, the word selections I construct reflect so. In the future I can imagine that I will find a love so pure and perfect that my writing would be too much for me to handle alone. It will be my duty to not only share how amazing our love makes me feel, but to also share pieces of our love's soul, in a language that only we can interpret. To put in writing the portions of him that only I would be so keen to notice far beyond his ability to just look in the mirror, would be my calling during that phase in my life. And maybe it will be my responsibility to write down all the things that his heart feels, but his mouth can't figure out how to say. In the same breath, it's possible that I could reach a corner in life that's so dark, that seems so distant, that no light can reach. It would then be on the shoulders of my writing to toss a rope strong enough to pull my own self out. Perhaps the phase in which I'm in now, is self exploratory, selfish, and vain, so much so, that I'm writing about my own writing.