Rakastan
This is Where I'll Find You
The snow outside seems to have lightened up, so I'm thinking again, trying so hard not to think about him.
He was beautiful, his eyes, his hair, his body but to me the beauty that was him was his voice. It was the voice that laughed in such a way it was contagious and the voice that poured the lyrics into my mind everynight through my iPod before I slept. My writing grew And matured. He gave me so mAny thoughts about life, love, and nature. I didn't copy him, didn't put A spin on his words. A writer can. Only express their own feeing truthfully. He was a mentor, showing me how words can erase words upon paper and become memorized to flow through your veins like emotion. The fluidity of my pen got away with me and before I knew it my writing was matured. I realized that somehow I felt connected to him and I was falling for a man who spoke as if our souls were one. It wasn't like his ideals became mine more like we shared similar thoughts and concepts and that my perceptions of things could be understood by him. I never said oh I love him because how could you love someone you never met? Besides he was a celebrity and if I said that people would associate it with regular stars in your eyes infatuation. But he was sox brilliant and every album just flexed my creative mind. It didn't even have to be abut love, so many topics came to me and ways of expressing them. It was like I was my strongest when he was singing in the background that my drive of creativity maxed. But I didn't understand why I couldn't just appreciate his artist license, why I had to feel a click that I felt whole secure and happy when I could just hear him or see an interview. Of course he was extremely good looking but the personAlity was the nail to my coffin. I couldn't talk about it and in my dreams we always met up in the strangest of ways. There would be weird reminders of him that would start the cycle of thoughts of him; I couldn't escape. It started to feel if he wasn't around; I couldn't sense a purpose for myself, that I wouldn't be living if his influence went away because I cherished my writing above anything it was my expression and he helped me master it. It sounds all peuliar
recalling it but I couldn't break the inward pull he had on me. I was essentially in love with my
soul mate because his soul was a carbon copy of mine and his famous status his looks etc
meant nothing to me, he wasn't to me what he was to others. If I could find someone like him, I tried. I started dating tall thin dark haired men wishing for own copy but no one compared to his looks and most of all no one had that pull. I was dying inside.
I couldn't forget him and writing was expression to let it all out so I tried purging myself of him but my writing bore the reminder of him and so it was to be my connection to him in a way I couldn't forsee.
I had gotten writing awards before so the phone call that came that day three months ago was little surprise. I figured it was just another local library or some fake book publisher which would result in a click of the phone. However when Cal Sanders called from Finland, I nearly dropped my phone. He had noticed my poem entitled Northern Lights and wanted to contact me about attending Turku's Writer Premiere University. I thought for sure he was joking, until I made some calls and Cal flew to NY to meet me. He didn't want anything aside from me to enjoy Finland and master my writing technique. The University would be accredited with my US univeristy, so before I knew it, I was going to Finland with Euri who found a partner university where she could do her historical thesis on Scandanavian countries.
He was beautiful, his eyes, his hair, his body but to me the beauty that was him was his voice. It was the voice that laughed in such a way it was contagious and the voice that poured the lyrics into my mind everynight through my iPod before I slept. My writing grew And matured. He gave me so mAny thoughts about life, love, and nature. I didn't copy him, didn't put A spin on his words. A writer can. Only express their own feeing truthfully. He was a mentor, showing me how words can erase words upon paper and become memorized to flow through your veins like emotion. The fluidity of my pen got away with me and before I knew it my writing was matured. I realized that somehow I felt connected to him and I was falling for a man who spoke as if our souls were one. It wasn't like his ideals became mine more like we shared similar thoughts and concepts and that my perceptions of things could be understood by him. I never said oh I love him because how could you love someone you never met? Besides he was a celebrity and if I said that people would associate it with regular stars in your eyes infatuation. But he was sox brilliant and every album just flexed my creative mind. It didn't even have to be abut love, so many topics came to me and ways of expressing them. It was like I was my strongest when he was singing in the background that my drive of creativity maxed. But I didn't understand why I couldn't just appreciate his artist license, why I had to feel a click that I felt whole secure and happy when I could just hear him or see an interview. Of course he was extremely good looking but the personAlity was the nail to my coffin. I couldn't talk about it and in my dreams we always met up in the strangest of ways. There would be weird reminders of him that would start the cycle of thoughts of him; I couldn't escape. It started to feel if he wasn't around; I couldn't sense a purpose for myself, that I wouldn't be living if his influence went away because I cherished my writing above anything it was my expression and he helped me master it. It sounds all peuliar
recalling it but I couldn't break the inward pull he had on me. I was essentially in love with my
soul mate because his soul was a carbon copy of mine and his famous status his looks etc
meant nothing to me, he wasn't to me what he was to others. If I could find someone like him, I tried. I started dating tall thin dark haired men wishing for own copy but no one compared to his looks and most of all no one had that pull. I was dying inside.
I couldn't forget him and writing was expression to let it all out so I tried purging myself of him but my writing bore the reminder of him and so it was to be my connection to him in a way I couldn't forsee.
I had gotten writing awards before so the phone call that came that day three months ago was little surprise. I figured it was just another local library or some fake book publisher which would result in a click of the phone. However when Cal Sanders called from Finland, I nearly dropped my phone. He had noticed my poem entitled Northern Lights and wanted to contact me about attending Turku's Writer Premiere University. I thought for sure he was joking, until I made some calls and Cal flew to NY to meet me. He didn't want anything aside from me to enjoy Finland and master my writing technique. The University would be accredited with my US univeristy, so before I knew it, I was going to Finland with Euri who found a partner university where she could do her historical thesis on Scandanavian countries.