Every Heard

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Drink me.

I have always written… Even before I had learned to read, write, and spell; I remember scribbling spiral notebooks from front to back.  And in my parents’ attic, tucked away in my closest, and in my old computer hard drive; there are so many loose letters and notes.  Little emotional land-mines laying in wait, some more pleasant than others.  The terms diary and journal have always made me cringe.  And if I were ever to be published, I hate the idea of my only book being a memoir…  But if I allowed myself to ruminate about it forever, I would never write enough to chronicle any complete thoughts.

I would like to think that I will write a novel or two someday, published or not.  As a child, I hoped to do so before I was 25, but now that I am 27, I am confident that simply wasn’t possible.  As a tween and teen, I wrote copiously; journals, unsent letters, and dramatic little chapters of stories I never completed.  Ironically, they felt the most organized and well-written when I was younger and seemed to degrade in quality as I aged.  …It’s something about being able to devote one’s self so fully to an endeavor as a child, when one’s attention and energy were not yet divided.  Before I could date, or work, or had to worry about providing my own food, water, and shelter.  Then the possibilities were endless.

I was obsessed with writing for two reasons.  First, I realized somehow that words did not always convey the message one intended.  I deeply desired to extract my emotions, not just my thoughts, and implant them into my reader, achieving true empathy with another soul.  Second, if I could achieve my first goal, then I would also be able to preserve that sensation for myself as well… A little bottled bittersweet moment, pickled perseverance… perhaps with a side of frozen frustration, dethawed delight, vacuum-sealed victory… a vial of vile.  I understood that a moment in time is rarely remembered accurately.  An individual is altered by their experiences so that in retrospect, unpleasant moments can sometimes be recalled with a smile, while the most simple pleasures can easily be forgotten altogether.

How to capture those fleeting moments and sentiments for later consumption… How to share them… Vulcan mind-meld?  -If only.

I have been feeling this desire to transcribe feelings for longer than I have had the ability to write.  But maybe I have simply been focusing too much on a single medium of self-expression… Maybe I need more than words…

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