I’m not a writer. I’m not sure I even like to write. But, I am sure of this: I love to tell stories.

I used to write in a diary. But then things happened. I fell in love. With a boy.

He was sweet and kind. Not the brightest fellow, but he sent me a “good-morning” and a “good-night” without fail every day. I thought I would marry him some day. I shared my deepest and darkest thoughts with him. I shared my scribbly poetry and timid songs that I dared not share with anyone else. He shared his fears and anxieties that had taken him so much strength to recognize. We were best friends. We planned out our futures together, and everything was perfect.

He was constant in his adoration for me. So faithful, so devoted… to a fault. My love for him was a rushing river, ever changing in its course. His love for me was a scorching sun, and with every good-morning and good-night, my love for him had run dry. Nearing the end of our relationship, I was not the same person I was before. He was too same.

Falling in love was quick and easy. Falling out of love was not. It was a slow, grueling process in which one day I looked at him and realized that I didn’t love him anymore. I stayed, though. I thought feelings didn’t mean much. Love is commitment. Commitment doesn’t necessitate feelings. Until I fell in love again. And no, not with him. This time, I fell in love with a man.

The relationship I had endured ended shortly after.

We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Each moment we spent with each other felt familiar, as if we were lovers and soulmates tied to each other in a past life and destined to meet again. We understood each other like no one else could. Our love was never meant to be permanent from the beginning, and its impermanence made it all the more enticing. He was a gusty wind that stirred my river to thunderous storms. He fed my creative spirit, and I wrote without end. He was my muse.

And guess what, reader? He left me. My mom called it karma. I called him a man-child.

So what does all this have to do with my “About” page? Good question.

Please be gentle with me, dear reader. It has taken me a while to muster up the courage to write again. After feeling suffocated in one relationship and then experiencing heartbreak in another, it became difficult to share my heart with others. But here I am, yet again, writing to you. I’m not the most brilliant of writers. I’m just a simple story-teller.

I may still write about the boy I once loved and later tolerated or the man I once knew who turned out to be a man-child instead. But this time, I’m writing as my own muse.