When I was little, I was pretty damn adamant that I was going to become a writer.

I loved writing short stories, and i’d always be given top marks when it came to creating a tourist brochure for a foreign country (my year 6 teacher Mr. Thomas loved the time I used a clip art version of the Eiffel Tower as a substitute for the letter A). I was good at using descriptive words and writing poetry, but soon the teenage years came and I could no longer muster the brain power or the motivation.

I’ve always had a little problem with words. Verbally, anyway. I’m the worst person to come to with problems, because all the brilliant advice that I know I have in my head suddenly vanishes, and i’m just left with vaguely sympathetic comments.

And then there’s “love”. There’s been a few break-ups in my past where there’s been a million and one things i’ve wanted to say, but words stick in my throat and I can’t say them. My head is so full of clarity and my mouth just won’t cooperate. I’ve had people say that they don’t feel cared for by me because I don’t tell them I care for them. This, to me, just doesn’t make sense.

I’m not a words person, i’m an actions person. If you’ve ever got up in the middle of the night to get me a glass of water because i’ve drank to much, made me a cup of tea even though it was my turn, ┬ámade sure I had enough quilt, listened to me whinge, made the effort to come and see me, then to me, that expresses far more love than words ever could. Words do nothing, actions do something.

When I have problems, I don’t really talk about them. I mean, i’d love to, but I just can’t. The words don’t come out. I have a livejournal which is set so that only my best friend can read. Anything and everything that happens to me goes in here, if I feel at all worried or upset. It’s my little place of solace. I don’t have to worry about being laughed at because of what I say or feel, I don’t have to worry that i’m wrong. All the things that I think is subconsciously going on in my head when I try and tell someone how I really feel inside. That’s why the words don’t come out.

I don’t say the L word very often, to friends, to boyfriends, to anyone. But fuck it. It doesn’t matter. If a word means so much to you, we’re more than likely not that compatible. If you’re happy enough with me making you a cup of tea or changing your bedsheets, sit down and we’ll talk.