Throwback Thursday #24: The Proser Edition

Prosers,

We hope you are all well. Though we know, “writer” and “wellness” don't typically go together on account of our many quirks. We are experts at magnifying wounds and drowning in the ink of pity. We are addicts of weeping, thrilled anytime we somehow mange to squeeze out a drop of tangible misery for others to read and feel. Perhaps this is why we tend to adore words about pain, because we spend so much time and effort carving letters out of the dead spots inside and they taste fresh when they first see light.

I'm sure we seem strange for finding joy in such things, but be grateful for the burden of oddities it takes to move a pen. Be thankful for the weight required to feel deep enough to comprehend your breaks, because when we do, it seems like the world feels us back. So, we punish ourselves in search of something beautiful, and when we find it, we break it down on a page, waiting in silence to hear if there's anyone out there that feels the lines.

Just remember, dear Prosers, you're not so broken as it seems. Maybe you're just a writer; maybe you're a point within humanity that lets the pressure out. It hurts. It always does, bursting forth like magma and ash. Just remember, men once carved words on stone, not for joy or because it was easy, but for need. Because even the dwellers of caves felt things so profound that they were compelled to leave a piece of the day where it would kept safe from their own mortality. Now here we are, coming together to share the things we run from but cannot lose, etching the day in ink, hoping to scratch the surface and wake the world from numbness. We know what it takes to move the pen, and we carry the baggage like a badge. I'm sure we can all agree that it's an honor to be here and call ourselves Prosers. Until next time, write some lines for me; I'll carve my soul for you.

Until next time,

LillyZ and DaveK.