I believe that we always get to have a fantasy of what it would feel like to falling in love with a writer, photographer, or a painter. There is this magic element to the concept that keeps us on our toes. We end up thinking of possible scenarios of this idea. Would it be a perfect love story? Or would it turn into something miserable?

Undoubtedly, an artist would draw you in beautiful ways. You will never predict how an artist would turn the feelings he has for you into a master piece. It is linked to every feeling and set of emotions you would feel with that person. 

Loving a photographer

While a photographer will do his best to document moments with you. He will capture you in a different way. Especially, in feelings rather than just memories. He will capture the way you smile when you both talk or the way you laugh.

He will know the details of your face in ways others wouldn’t. Each is unique in their own ways. I, myself, wonder what it would feel like to fall in love with any of these characters in a man. Only until I found myself falling for one of them, a writer. 

Falling in Love differently

My first love story was with a writer. I wouldn’t say that loving a writer was the best thing but it was definitely unique. Or maybe I didn’t have the real love experience with one. He was a writer. I have always admired his writing style. He wrote very eloquently in both Arabic and English. I envied that about him. His writing in Arabic is as good as his in English. The way he formed sentences and put live in them was so thrilling to me. He was an attentive, smart, and mature reader as well. 

I was always impressed by the number of books he manages to read every year. In addition to the way he reflects on them was an experience on itself. His style was rich and delicate. I sometimes sensed frustration in his articles. But I can totally understand where that frustration came from. Our friendship started because of writing.

I appreciated that he would read my early articles and give me his feedback on them. Nevertheless, he was one of the few who retweeted my articles when I first started. I read his articles all the time though he didn’t know that I did. Also, I pictured him in the pieces he published.

Loving tiredly

His attractive voice is what I hear when I read the sentences and picture him reading them. The way he read sentences was beautiful and I remember the times he spent drafting articles. I loved his voice too, it was special in a sense and I believe not all people have beautiful voices. 

I was thinking so hard of how it felt to fall for a writer and in fact, it felt exhausting. It was never easy nor he made it easy. Many variables played a role in the way I loved him or maybe I did love him hard for the first time in my life and I would say my last.

I believe that how complicated things were made loving him difficult and tiring. It reflected on my psych and mindset. Without a doubt, I didn’t sense how heavy it was until it was over. I wonder if it was supposed to be the way it was or the other way around!