Falling in love with a writer...Is it the most beautiful thing one can experience, or the most misleading?

     I think we've all dreamed of being loved by a poet.

     To be someone's mused.

      To live forever in another's words.

      To have your story brought to life for everyone to read.

     To read your lover's deepest thoughts and feelings.

     I bet at first glance, falling in love with a writer is appealing.

     But as a writer sometimes have so many words in my head that I cannot filter them into the real word.

     While I have no trouble running my pen, my mouth is a different thing.

     Written words have drafts and edits, that verbal words do not.

     When my voice matters most, my words fail me.

     I sit silently, word after word thrumming in my mind. Words of appreciation and love, but they never part my lips.

     Words are safer in my head.

     But my thoughts deserve to be heard, and my loved-ones deserve to hear the extent to which I hold them dear.

     But if I take the time to write them all down, and share my thoughts through paper, is it as authentic as my initial thoughts?

     Are my words as authentic after their countless edits?

     Good turns into magnificent. Enjoyment turns into an overwhelming sense of ectasy. Sadness turns into dark devastation. Synonyms perhaps, but they hold not the same meaning.

     Writers have the ability to transform simple emotions and knowledge into something much bigger.

     A shared glanced with a stranger on the train becomes the start of the greatest love story. A simple flicker of lust or a growing crush soon depicted as love at first sight.

     A passionate tell of lust and love at first sight, when what I truly felt was intrigue.

     So, am I misleading you?

     Am I misleading you with unspoken words, and written words of exaggeration?

     Have I written what I truly mean or have I written what you want to hear? Have I chosen my collection of words according to what is more poetic, or rather what is most authentic and meaningful?

     My dear, sometimes I don't even know the answer.

     The writer in me is always chasing a story.

    That doesn't mean my emotions are fake or a lie, but it can be difficult to differ fiction from non-fiction.

     So, do you still want to be my muse?

     Do you have the patience to read between the lines, and await my true voice?