Perhaps We Become Poets Because We Loved
There is a strange phenomenon in human life. The quietest people often become the loudest writers. The people who once struggled to express a single feeling suddenly begin filling notebooks, journals, blogs, and phone notes with words that refuse to stay inside. It is almost funny when you think about it. The same person who could not say “I miss you” directly somehow ends up writing three pages about the weather, the moon, destiny, philosophy, and the meaning of existence—just to avoid admitting that they miss one particular person. Love does that. It turns ordinary people into accidental poets. I have often wondered why this happens. Why does a person who never cared about language suddenly become obsessed with finding the right words? Why does someone who barely passed literature classes start reading poetry at two in the morning? Why does every song suddenly feel personal? Why does every sunset begin to look like a message? Perhaps because love creates a problem that language...
