Suppose I have been in love, which I can rather safely say that I haven’t, I would suppose it would be something like this. Something along the lines of writing (typing) out all the secrets to your soul. Branching out to all scales of emotions, with no core relations or connections, under the great umbrella of you. There is no particular desired destination or ideal, no concrete grounds to stand on, but just the searching and being right there in and of it. It exposes to you an almost childlike and egotistic urgency to share excessively. The soul of another is so much to take after all. In other words, an aforementioned bad conversationalist. So to speak, the page is my lover and I am brimming, with too much information; there are hardly enough words, always.
I discovered that my biggest vice as a creative writer for the longest time, and still is, is the inability for me to cut down on my piece. In the beginning while I was just a young novice trying my best to fill in the spaces on the lined paper as much as I can with letters in overdrawn proportions and needless spaces, mostly because my vocabulary was severely lacking, it was somewhere along the way that this innocent desire came to overcompensate. A lot like purging love to a new partner, we write something new with brand new revelations.
This particular thought never came to mind until my sister commented in similar terms on a generic basis for all creative outlets. That’s when I recalled all those damaging comments my senior year teachers had made for my writing to be more ‘simple’. That had been an insult to a long overdue injury, I just hadn’t realized.
So how does this all come back to being in love? Especially for somebody that has never experienced this human euphoria.
Well I suppose it has to do with our overwhelming desire to give and impress…for every piece that is published here especially, there is this expectancy to write something so great that it will redefine you and explain your role in this cyber world. With this larger than life audience, this omnipotent character that we want to constantly prove ourselves to, its a literal sense of this one shot to be your greatest lover. We, or at least I (though I may deny it), spread ourselves so thin in going against the grain of every other piece that was ever written, that had ever taken a step in your direction, we lose ourselves and it ever so undesirably becomes like reading into a madmen. Whether or not it’s in the best of ways is subjective, but for somebody who has never been in the famous insanities of love, this would be my closest bet.
Writing, with the desire to write more; to emulate further the subject at hand, to embellish greater the joy and anguish we experience, whatever it may be. So many extremities that we want to take our partner through, if only because we want them to be part of this journey, all at the same time. It’s selfish and overwhelming, but still, they must have came in mind to accept all that I am? And for certain it’s hard to stop writing, because how can you ever be satiated with the analogy chosen and the metaphor put here. How to not increase further the connectivity or take a chance at a simile. How do you know you don’t have to explain yourself further, or that you simply want so badly for your partner to just get you. Even now, I am finding a difficult time to stop this piece appropriately. That’s to say, what’s the best way to capture your audience in a mere 200-300 word span? What’s a good date with a kiss that hinted there was a whole other chapter to read further into? I still have yet to figure it out.
If nothing else, this piece was a long shot and I was just writing bogus. I can redeem myself in the next post after all – that’s the big idea.