Stealing a little something from someone

I read this one blog by a female and it takes me wherever she goes. Its like having a non fiction series and knowing that the protagonist does really really exists at this very moment, at least I hope so. This is only the kind of non fiction I have been reading last few months. I follow a few others but this one is the most proliferate and this female really has to write you can feel the urge as strong as wanting to throw up that too projectile style. I know thats gross but thats the type of emotions I'm talking about. I have read this before somewhere...that you are a writer only when you just need to write. You cant really stop and you don't do it for all the success you dream about. The writing is the result by itself and destiny unto itself.
Writing is such a stunning form of expression that someone light years away from me otherwise can convey feelings so close to my own. A lesbian, native of Alaska and a freight train hopping self proclaimed hobo her and me a straight sheltered female from a smothering Indian background a fairly recent immigrant in US.
This is why it feels like stealing something from someone, the whole nuance of her words they describe everything she felt in that moment. I adore that ability a few of us have by which we can transform the mundane into pure magic. It feels like stealing those emotions and sensations she had then and righteously so. As a writer she puts all her secrets out there for us to steal them and enjoy that guilty pleasure.
Someday, yes someday I might lay it all down like them, the great people that can honestly display all their hurts and joys in form of words that glitter like diamonds and gold in a jewelery case of metaphors and phrases.
Then others can steal what they want, what they can and use it as they wish....

Hot Tears on a Starry Night

I felt like it so I walked out
Late in the night out on the grass
I don't know about the moon
but the sky was filled with starry light

I was thinking hard
I don't know why
Of nights passed and other starry nights

I remembered then a tiny girl
who looked at the sky and the moon and the clouds
she knew not why the world was so
tilted at angles and hard to decipher
she was supposed to be warm
she was supposed to be safe
she was supposed to be loved
She knew all of it then

With my feet touching the moist grass
I thought of a tiny boy
who trusted me so
I remembered his eyes, the tears he never shed
I remember holding his hand
As best I could, as best as I knew then
I remember telling him stories about stars
of a world far away in a distant land

I see them both trying to help each other
him clutching hard to that pillow of his
her not knowing how to do it all
Most of the time she didn't know if she was coming or going

I remember them both like it was yesterday
That memory will never fade away

I don't cry for many things anymore
but if I ever do....
I might
shed some hot tears for those two on a starry night