If You Want To Be A Writer — Fall In Love
One evening, you are going to wake up in a cold sweat of memory, and you are going to have no other choice but to bleed. You are going to have no other choice but to pick up the pen.
If you want to be a writer fall in love.
Fall in love with someone and let them change your life. Fall in love with the way their eyes twitch when they first wake up, live for the freckles along their arms. Fall in love with the wisps of hair that always seem to be out of place on their head, daydream about the way their voice cracks when they laugh.
If you want to be a writer, fall in love.
Fall in love with someone who inspires art into you, life into you. Fall in love with someone who knots feelings to your bones, who opens your eyes and makes you see the world differently. Fall in love with someone who protect you, who breaks down the walls within your chest, who makes you finally believe, in the very pit of your stomach, that you may have discovered something rare and beautiful.
If you want to be a writer, fall in love.
And if you want to be a writer, fall out of love.
Lose that girl, that boy. Lose those mornings, lose that laughter. Lose that feeling, that eagerness for more. Lose that mouth, those eyes. That heart.
If you want to be a writer, fall out of love. Have your world change completely in an instant. Say goodbye to the one person who made you feel like you were alive, who made you believe that people could actually win in the war against time. Have your feelings unravel, let them build up in your throat, let them sit in your stomach like an uncomfortable story you need to tell.
And one evening, whether it is a week later, or a year later — you are going to wake up at four in the morning to the sound of your body begging you to let go; to the whisper of your very heart just pleading with you to release what you have swallowed. One evening, you are going to wake up in a cold sweat of memory, and you are going to have no other choice but to bleed. You are going to have no other choice but to pick up the pen.
It is the only way you will survive. 
Read more writing like this in Bianca Sparacino’s book Seeds Planted In Concrete here.
