Synonyms Exist For A Reason
At first, I used to think how unfortunate was I
that I had friends who loved to write.
I envied how her words overflew with emotions - pure magic in her poems that left me drowning in toxicity and tears, leaving me feeling like a thief who wanted to steal her words and make them mine, like a bullet from a gun, her words hit you right where they intended, never leaving a spot clean and dry.
And her, using majestic words and woving them into plain fabric, her writings royalty and the common person at the same time - regal worlds camouflaged as local shrines.
Finally, she who made aestetics her lover, sentances constructed like Daedalus's Labyrinth forcing you to crawl between the lines, double check each turning and pause, stop and take in the beauty that her words confined.
As envy takes over awe and bittersweet sadness chokes my praises, I think of Danielle Steele and Sydney Sheldon; I travel through Valhalla and teleport to Hogwarts; my mind reminiscences the beauty of Narnia and compares it with Inkspell - something I've discovered is quite impossible to do; I think of Simon Spier and Theodore Finch and wonder, how would I have survived if all these writers wrote the same? Would my soul have lived or would it have died? Would I have shriveled up or would I have thrived?
Now, I consider myself fortunate that I have friends who love to write. My eyes gourge each word and swallow each line.
I am no longer bitter, I no longer break, my heart no longer longs for words it can't take; not every common person becomes royal, not every emotion is expressed as poems, every aestetic is different for each season and synonyms exist for a reason.