So, I've started writing again. Like actually writing, like somewhere close to a new poem almost everyday. I'm starting to feel a bond with Emily Dickinson. Although my poems make a little more sense then hers, and no where near as good. Yet I can really relate to her. It's so consuming, but the need to write is insatiable. My fingers twitch when a pen isn't in my hand allowing me to scribble incessantly into a battered notebook. I don't know if this is a good sign or not. Mostly, I find writing eases the ache. Although, on my last blog post I droned on about moving on and removing myself from my past relationship, the ache still lingers.
I call it my phantom pain.
I miss something that is not longer there, I feel for something no longer a part of me.
It's my phantom.
I'm sure many may call that an over exaggeration, and quite possibly it is. But when a first love dissipates, no matter how smoothly, some part of your heart will always ache for that loss. I fully recognize the relationship ended, the ship has sailed, and I no longer want it. But that doesn't mean I have forgotten it or even crave that love anymore. Again, it is still very soon since the closure. Yet the ache still lingers: it is very small, and rarely noticeable. Less frequently does it consume me.
But the amusing thing is: this little ache makes me write more than ever before. Writing is my medicine in a way. I can remove the feelings by trapping them on paper. Conveinent, too.
I also feel the need to clarify, as well. I don't want to be in that relationship anymore. I don't want to be with my ex. The love is gone. I don't want any of those, which makes the ache all the more confusing at times. But when I write these emotions into a poem, I can make sense of them in my own way. It's not so much the person, so much as the heart break of losing someone so important in your life. The confusion stems from trying to rework my whole entire life, because I had plans and dreams that suddenly were obsolete after the relationship ended. Sometimes, the fear and loneliness is too much to bear, the desire to feel loved again, the guilt over moving on, the anger over a broken heart. These emotions are powerful, these emotions have risen to the surface and faded as time goes on. They ebb and flow. Many of these tides of emotions don't even show themselves anymore.
You feel what you feel.
Right now, I enjoy the company of another while someone I once loved very deeply is very lonely.
The main emotion here: guilt.
I'm happy with my place in life. I'm excited about the path I've put myself onto. I'm very happy with the people I have in my life. I will always miss and long for the relationship I lost. A small part of me will always feel sad that it ended. That's what I'm feeling now: that sadness. The emotion I'm riding for my writing is that sadness. The most intense of emotions, the most intense of events always make for the best poetry.
But the guilt I feel for him is that when I enjoy my life without him, when I find new friends and make a living, when I'm happier now than when I was with him, I feel guilty. And in turn I feel sad, because I shouldn't be guilty over this. In time, I believe he'll be happier. Right now, a part of me feels that he wouldn't be going through his sadness if we were still together. This is a wrong way of thinking. I can only feel what I feel. And I'll write it out, let it leave my body and just keep moving forward.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a poet? To start out one place and end another? Everyday, I write and write, read and read. But these emotions change even as the words are written, nothing remains constant. Everything changes, nothing is still.
I call it my phantom pain.
I miss something that is not longer there, I feel for something no longer a part of me.
It's my phantom.
I'm sure many may call that an over exaggeration, and quite possibly it is. But when a first love dissipates, no matter how smoothly, some part of your heart will always ache for that loss. I fully recognize the relationship ended, the ship has sailed, and I no longer want it. But that doesn't mean I have forgotten it or even crave that love anymore. Again, it is still very soon since the closure. Yet the ache still lingers: it is very small, and rarely noticeable. Less frequently does it consume me.
But the amusing thing is: this little ache makes me write more than ever before. Writing is my medicine in a way. I can remove the feelings by trapping them on paper. Conveinent, too.
I also feel the need to clarify, as well. I don't want to be in that relationship anymore. I don't want to be with my ex. The love is gone. I don't want any of those, which makes the ache all the more confusing at times. But when I write these emotions into a poem, I can make sense of them in my own way. It's not so much the person, so much as the heart break of losing someone so important in your life. The confusion stems from trying to rework my whole entire life, because I had plans and dreams that suddenly were obsolete after the relationship ended. Sometimes, the fear and loneliness is too much to bear, the desire to feel loved again, the guilt over moving on, the anger over a broken heart. These emotions are powerful, these emotions have risen to the surface and faded as time goes on. They ebb and flow. Many of these tides of emotions don't even show themselves anymore.
You feel what you feel.
Right now, I enjoy the company of another while someone I once loved very deeply is very lonely.
The main emotion here: guilt.
I'm happy with my place in life. I'm excited about the path I've put myself onto. I'm very happy with the people I have in my life. I will always miss and long for the relationship I lost. A small part of me will always feel sad that it ended. That's what I'm feeling now: that sadness. The emotion I'm riding for my writing is that sadness. The most intense of emotions, the most intense of events always make for the best poetry.
But the guilt I feel for him is that when I enjoy my life without him, when I find new friends and make a living, when I'm happier now than when I was with him, I feel guilty. And in turn I feel sad, because I shouldn't be guilty over this. In time, I believe he'll be happier. Right now, a part of me feels that he wouldn't be going through his sadness if we were still together. This is a wrong way of thinking. I can only feel what I feel. And I'll write it out, let it leave my body and just keep moving forward.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a poet? To start out one place and end another? Everyday, I write and write, read and read. But these emotions change even as the words are written, nothing remains constant. Everything changes, nothing is still.
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