These days, everything seems to happen just like that.

There used to be such as thing as romance between a writer and his pen; something that no conscious mind could ever grasp. Soft scratches exacted ideas onto page, and inspiration would come in waves – leaving words tangled in ways never before seen; sea-weed twisted similes left to dry over rough brevity.

These days, we’re glued to our computer screens. We spit out words and get spell check to check to see if they’re ordered correctly. The subtle imperfections of letters slicing into light blue lines and swaying back and forth from either side have all but disappeared. I’m fearful that my life is moving too fast; I used to be a pencil pusher – taking my time to breathe as the graphite graphed out sub-conscious paths from memory to memory. These days, I ache for a slower way to process all my rage and pain. But I need to exercise my right which is to write and say things that might offend, and this pen doesn’t keep time with my mind, so when I sashay across the page, I always wonder if I left the right words behind.

These days, everything seems to happen just like that.

I know this because it took me just one look to start relating to you, and a few choice words to know that you liked me too. I learned how fast the atriums can split in two – especially when Cupid has an arrow to shoot. Is love stuck a medical condition? And if so, is there a medicinal method for relieving the pain that comes from bad timing? And does the pain come from the left or right atrium, or is it all in my head? Should I put only half my faith in my heart and the rest in my mind, so that next time I fall for someone, I’m emotionally available only half the time?

These days, everything seems to happen just like that.

I know it’s ill-advised to imply that you can even try to control these butterflies – especially when I finally found a way to slow down and embrace the moment in which I’m able to write to bridge the gap between my soul and your eyes.

For a moment, let’s just pretend that we’re not all going six-feet deep, that time is slowing down and it’s giving us room to breathe. And let’s just pretend that it’s better to feel loved and have your heart torn in two instead of saying that love is something you never knew. So, fuck a little roughness because we all know that the heart will keep beating even if your mind gets screwed.

Besides, these days…I hear that good things can happen just like that.