Love Plays on Its Own

It's hard moving around in the world (the creative one, that is) when all you want is that one new piece, that one little bit of something to catch Someone's attention. Something so that you know they're listening, even if they never say anything at all.

But words cannot be forced. Those that make themselves write a certain number a day, I wonder what their creations look like after they revise for the first time. I let the words flow where they may, and find that I'm usually missing a complete thought somewhere along the line; not that I have to go back and rewrite something because I was forcing the story as through a tiny tube.

It interests me to think that you can say something when you're younger that's meant to be amusing, and then you grow older and realize that it's a good mantra to keep. I find myself reflecting on something I told my mother when I was twenty:


I can't poem on command!


I have to convince myself to let my words stand on their own. If that Special Someone is truly listening, They already know how I feel; I needn't write any further until I'm ready.

My parting message this time is a song:

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