Writing Souls

We are Writers, we are Creatives, we have our visions, we have our opinions, we have our screaming colours.

Everyone have them, but we do share them. We do share them, we do unroll them on the table, under your eyes, and they are scandalously naked. We do that about our doubts, our questions, our love, our fears and more. We do it in front of you, for You, and for us too, because we have this need, yes. We are daring, we put our face, in front of you and not only the face. We are extremely fragile in that, and strong as none.

Every time you find a story, a poem, one of our crazy flights, it is our “time” it is thousand of heart beats and breaths the thing you are collecting with your hands. It is our personal minutes, hours, or sometimes one single flash, time, it is a part of us and it is all yours to see.
How did we got there? For most of us it is a thing that has always existed in us, it starts in a shy way but then it becomes our way of living, and we do that all the time. We stop to ask ourselves about this and that and seeking more, and more, and more. We do it all the time, with no holding, gifting it because we need it, yes, but also because we think it is worth, because you may find it ugly, or beautiful and it needs seen. Yes, whether it is for us, or the others, we are helpless, we have no shame and we do it, and it is not always easy, but if possible this makes it even worthier doing it, to our soul.

We are like anyone else and no special at all, but we are also unlike anyone, as anyone is special in her own way. So we do put our face and heart in front of you. You can call us exhibitionists, if you wish. Maybe there is a form of this, or rather it is because we make this effort, this constant effort of digging into just anything and then we feel like showing it, we feel it can do good, for us and the others.

We are the writers, the creatives, the crazy, the one that can say the wrongest things, or sometimes the most touching, for one simple reason, because we say them, because we are helpless

For someone it is photography, for others it is through jokes, or it may be painting. It doesn’t matter, it is putting the face. Yes, we are this brave, a strange, weird kind of courage, but it needs being insane and brave, to do it, and never being “convenient” by expressing just that little that we know is accepted and wanted.

For us is writing, weaving words to describe, capture, and share. It is aligning them and making roads, castles, cities, universes.
You can read us or not, you can watch or not, you can pass by, you can not care. Our creations might have you feel the same vibrations, they may leave you needing explanations that you express, or rather not. Our scope is never to seek for those, but a part of us crave to know it reached you, because what we write about reached us, and we felt blessed.
We will not stop, but our souls crave to reach out, and rejoice when we feel it does, even in the smallest of the ways.

I’m a Cherry Tree

Rather than a flower I am a tree.

Like a tree I needed care to grow, I needed protection, I needed to feel the hard times of the difficult seasons, I needed to have them all hit on me, like lessons, and I needed to resist them.

Like a tree I have deep roots. I am not a flower lasting one season, I am rather a tree. I fought to have my roots avoid the stones and look deeper for the nourishment.

Like a tree I need the water, I need it from the kisses of the rain, and I need it from the depth of the ground. Like a cherry tree I have my seasons, I do blossom, I do give my fruits. Not all seasons are good ones, not two seasons are alike. Some years I am more sugary, some years dryer, but I do strive to give the fruits, it is my mission. To have my flowers blossom and give the fruits, have them picked, have them create smiles, and feed.

Like a tree I have been slow in my growth, it has not been an instant one. It took time, maturation, strengthening, growth.
Like a tree I look for the sun, I move towards it and stretch to reach for every ray of light and turn them into oxygen to be breath. At night, under the the moonbeams I dream and guard silent over what surrounds me.
Like a tree I can last very long without water, I will keep standing up, I will keep giving the shade and witness all I am and was, never leaving my place, no, I am not like a one-season flower.

Like a cherry tree I long for springtime, I revere the winters, I dress in new colors in Autumn, I give shade in Summer. I am a tree, I am the flowers, the fruits, the roots, the dignity, the stubbornness my life is all wrapped in those colours.

So, If I ever would be asked what flower I am, I would rather say:
I once was a seedling, now I am a cherry tree.