A Letter

    By now, any reader should understand that I am not going to write everyday. I believe that life is for the living, and I have been doing just that. When writing becomes a daily "to do" with no inspiration, it becomes a chore, and I refuse for the one thing that I can always get right to become something that I no longer enjoy. I'm not slack, I just don't believe in writing in the midst of false motivation.
   I was reading some of my older writings the other day and I ran across some material that took me to a place of intense emotion that I have been trying to escape for the last few days. With that, I ask this question: Have you ever cared for someone so much that you can never stay mad at them no matter how much they hurt your feelings?
    I am caught in that very situation with an individual who confuses me emotionally in every form and fashion. There are some days that I can feel that we still have something there, but then there are those days when I feel invisible but refuse to get his attention because my pride won't allow itself to be placed in the postion of a "chaser" no matter how much I want my presence to be met with the warm caress of a simple "hello." In those moments when I decide I don't want anything more to do with him, I try to be as curt as possible, but the more I look at him, the more I am reminded of the very reasons I like him so much, therefore putting up with his BS like I never have for anyone else.
   Even though I hate to admit it, I think I want to keep him around for a while. Unfortunately, I don't know if keeping me around is in his agenda. He used to make me feel special and fill me with a joy that was only tangible to the deepest part of my soul.  Whenever I see him I want to hold him and never let him go because I love how our bodies seem to fit together like a puzzle, and the thing about him is that he use to be perfectly okay with that. Then, I am reminded that we haven't had a real conversation in weeks and reaching for him would put my pride on the line and so, I put up an emotional guard, which dances across my face as a wrinkled eyebrow and speaks in the tone of a wearied silence which would cause the most innocent child to suddenly become unapproachable.  
   Some days, I want to pick up the phone and give him a call just to see how these last couple of weeks in class have been going and how life is. I would let him carry on and talk as much as he likes because I love the way he speaks. Everything that comes from his mouth seems to be poetic, even when he is being goofy. Everytime I listen to him, everything in the world seems to make sense, but since there has been no verbal ecstacy between us I have been in one of confusion's unrelenting trances that even those who are closest to me cannot seem to snap me out of.
   I know if I continue to place myself in this incessant cycle of uncertainty, I am bound to be hurt to the core, but, I believe what we could have is worth it and who knows--he may feel the same way.

Introduction

I've always felt as if sharing my writing with the world was a bit of a taboo...almost like placing a session of passionate love making on the internet for anybody to see with no qualm about who the viewer may be. The pen acts as a direct connection to my emotions, and when I hear the music that the point of a pen and paper make in which my heart is acting as conductor, it supplies a euphoric experience like no other...something that I may get lost in for hours at a time, even if that means simply staring at the words that have left my soul exhausted. Sharing that experience, my medicine, with the world just didn't seem right to me.

With a little encouragement from a special someone, I decided that there is nothing wrong with giving people a small piece of me. I was blessed with the ability to write and shielding that from the world will not benefit who I am and who I hope to become.

So here we are...I'm turning a new page in that book called Life.