He’s got it.
I’m not even really sure what it is, but I know he’s got it. That magical it people talk about in whispers, chase after their whole lives, want for themselves more than anything. Not the sort of it that turns heads or elicits wolf-whistles, usually, but instead it’s the kind that causes the person who has it to stand out just a little from the crowd. It’s the difference between a person who writes, and a person who is a writer. It’s ink in blood, magic in words, and an imagination that cannot be silenced.
Like the lightning that awoke Frankenstein’s monster, it is the thing that brings his words to life; gives them color, character, poignancy. It, is a gift he’s been blessed with, like all the otherits in the world other people have that make them stand out from the crowd too.
And not everyone’s the same; we’re not assembly-line products with the same desires, talents, or dreams. We’re each unique, and his it differs from mine, even if I happen to be a writer too.
Our its set us apart from the rest, make us special, and no matter what it someone has, they’re all blessings to be cherished, talents to be used and enjoyed.
So no, I don’t really know exactly what it is, it changes for everyone, but I know he’s got it. Hisit, his gift that lets words flow out of him and onto the page in stunning poetry or eloquent prose, that thing that makes them more than words, makes them a living, breathing work of his own, unique brand of it.
Because even if I still don’t really know what it is, I know he’s got it.