You’re long. You’re short. You can astound us and smash us to minuscule pieces. We string you together and you define our identity. I find myself obsessing over how to order you in every page, every paragraph. I exhaust you throughout the day with both my mouth and pen.
They say to use ‘kind’ words. But what does that mean? In my mind, I see that you are nothing but a tool. I spit you out in red-hot fury. My body racks with sobs, and you come out in choking gasps. Biting my lip, you flow awkwardly out from my smile. Disjointed and full of life, you bubble out alongside laughter.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from both life and writing, it is that you are what we make of you.
So, here it is:
I’m sorry for using you in anger, and I’m sorry for making you trip over yourself when I’m flustered. I am deeply sorry for using you as a sword, but I won’t apologize for making them laugh. I’m not sorry for brightening their day, or making them feel better about themselves. For making people think, accept, and luxuriate in life. The world is a beautiful place covered with scars and filled with equally scarred and beautiful people. Your very existence gives us the opportunity and obligation to make the world a better place.
– Nita Pan