Words have always meant a lot to me. Books, my secret get away. While my friends spent their time discussing the latest gossip, I found myself nose deep in great books. Usually two or three at a time I carried those precious packages with me, everywhere I went. The library, my second home. The bookstore, my worst enemy How could I love something that always robbed me dry? Hours felt like seconds with a good book. I never cried over movies but tearstained pages can tell you that written words have a hold on me. My grandfather was my greatest motivator. An educator in English and Literature, he was my biggest role model. He wrote poetry and co-authored books. Words always meant a lot to him. English was our secret passage. We spent days discussing parts of speech and grammar. He gave me my wings and when I forgot how to fly I always turned to him. And he never asked me to apologize for how long it took me to grow I’ve always been a poet Ever since my grandfather breathed his poetry into me. The warmth of his presence was the poetry of my life So after my grandfather passed, I found a new sparring partner. My dad and I recite lines back and forth for fear that if we don’t we’ll stop breathing As if, it’s the only reason we keep living. I still think in poetry. It’s how I keep my grandfather’s memory alive
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