Why do we push our lovers away? Is it arrogance? Pain? The fear of heartache? Abandonment? Or worse, the idea that love and all its incarnations are folly? Why did I attempt, in vain, to distance myself from both of them this morning? Why, in God’s name, did I try to live without love?
I sent a message to my Parisian this morning: “I have been inspired to write the greatness of life. Inspired wholly by you, my dear.”
I don’t pretend to be the greatest of writers. I simply write. Writing is who I am, and my charge in life, like many writers, is to live life and express it through words to my audience. It doesn’t matter the genre or the subject. I must feel the anguish of life and expose myself in order to place it into words so that others can experience it as well. I suppose I could argue that it’s my charge, that it’s some romantic ideal. But it’s not. It’s an awful existence. Full of pain and sorrow, and I suppose, like the sun that breaks through a deep, cloudy day, my writing will move you. Move you to be a bigger, better person. Perhaps to inspire you to follow your dreams. And in the very least to take a few minutes out of your busy life to sit with me for a few minutes and let me say the things which break my heart. And so to the thousands and thousands and thousands of people that read my posts, I want you to know that I’ll never disappoint you, because I cherish each and every one of you, more than I’m certain you’ll ever know. I write to you, personally, my life, and I always consider you to be my good friends.
My writing has taken on a new maturity of late. A depth which is so exposing, so honest, so brutal. I’ve found an inner strength. An honesty. My heart aches with longing, like a leashed dog, I pull and pull and pull at the chain, but I’m never freed. I want to run like galloping horses, to feel the freedom of winds in my mane, ton sweat out the pain of constraint and be fully expressed.
To quote some famous authors:
“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
And my favourite:
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”