I never asked but he always told me his story, in bits and pieces.
I never searched but he sought me out, and made to sure to keep me.
I never really saw it, but he said there was something about me. He was so sure I’d make it, it scared me.
He cheered me on, even when I didn’t see reason for it. He believed long before I was sure of what I was trying to achieve.
I always asked myself what it was he saw…I never got the answer, he never really said it.
I was grateful every single day I woke up to the knowledge that he even considered me worth his time. Well I savored it, and waited for the day he’d realize who he thought me to be and who I actually was were quite a distance apart. It never came.
I never got to tell him though, that when he dismissed my worship of his ingenuity I realized I could be just like him.
I never got to tell him that when he spoke to me like an equal, even though I was miles behind, I found my guiding light. I lost my confusion. I found my purpose.
I never got to tell him that the times he sent me the inspirational quotes (once a week without fail) they always found me on the edge of giving up, on looking down on everything I could be. I always found my courage. I always found my voice.
I never got to tell him that the day he sought me out, and told me I’d be the master of my art is the day I started to take my life a little more seriously. It’s the day I decided I wouldn’t disappoint myself. I had to. I just had to…
I never got to tell him that his free spirit made me find mine too. I didn’t want to impress anymore. I just wanted to create.
I never got to tell him that saving me a signed copy of his book (long before it was published) inspired me enough to have a more ‘sensible’ bucket list…
I never got to tell him that his opinion always intrigued me. Always so peculiar. So frank. Yet so truthful. He never really tried to sound like a know-it-all, even though I knew that he did.
I never got to tell him that sometimes when he described me, my eyes opened in those fleeting moments to who I am. Call it self discovery. That I got to know about Tracy Chapman…and sometimes she’s all the inspiration I needed.
I never got to say thank you enough…but whatever it is that made you believe, I see it now. I just thought I’d revisit that moment in my life, when I was 18 and you found me. I’d probably be anywhere but writing this. I chose the name of Writer Chic, he stamped it. I owned it.
And if I see you now, I’ll deny writing this… 🙂
>>Thank you for enduring my rants during #UgBlogWeek. Taking a break till 28th. Be back for the Monthly book Review. In the meantime, treat yourself like a royal. You are one. XOXO. The Writer Chic<<