The story of the words and I is a long and tumultuous dirge. I was so young when it began, I nearly miss the page in my memory—but for you, I will remember. They came quickly and quietly, whisper-stepping through my pillows. They filled me with their secrets, their twists and arcs. They begged for me to come and play.
We played for years—I laughed while they twirled around my head, playing hide-and-seek with my braids, arranging themselves just so before spiraling down through my fingers and onto the paper. We had days of adventures and sword fights, nights of romantic comedy and journals full of adolescent heart broken poetry.
All the while, the words held my hand. They never let go. They wanted me to know they were always there—they wanted me to fall in love with them. I knew better. I was waiting for the catch.
They started coming to school with me, tapping at my fingers while I tried to take notes. "Not that," they'd scoff at my geometry scribbling. "Those are numbers. We're more fun than numbers—aren't we?"
After their love of school was discovered, they started calling in the middle of the night. "Are you busy? We really need some paper..."
I suggested they leave a message in my dreams, but that wouldn't satisfy them for long. It was obvious who was taking orders from whom around here.
We had our first big fight around the time the novel was born. It's typical—neither could agree on who had contributed more. "She wouldn't even be here if it weren't for us," the words pointed out.
But I wrote her down—I stuck with her until she was finished. I'm the writer. You're just the words.
We didn't speak for awhile after that.
It took a few short story compromises, but we made up. Tentative—not as trusting and open as we were before. I longed for the innocence of our early days together. Before they became so needy.
They are at it again, though. Nagging, clawing, demanding. We'll probably fight again once they see how I've arranged them to tell our story. I don't imagine they'll like this at all.
But I'm the writer, after all.
And they are just the words.