This is not poetry or even creative writing. This piece is a piece of me, my thoughts transferred straight to you — no drafting or revision or censoring. Take this as a warning or a clarification.
I just watched a movie that made me laugh, roll my eyes, sputter cynical criticism and cry. And cry some more. The name of the movie is not important. The impression it has made on me probably even less so. But there was a revelation as the movie ended in the most dramatic, fictional happily ever after way. I need and crave those endings. I am very careful about what I watch and what I read, not because I’m an intellectual superior, but because I’m an emotional weakling. Although I know it is all fiction, and I’ve never been able to encounter real life fantasy such as those I read/watch, the happy endings heal me from the damage my own words and thoughts cause me.
As an author, I can create those same happy endings, theoretically. But for some reason I cannot claim the feel good fiction as my own. There was a time that I was able to transform certain passions into sensual sips of fantastical delight, but those were not endings — they were “continuations”. And I existed in those moments for so long (even when they ended for others) so I would not have to face the conclusion.
I admire writers that can leave behind their own biases and draw me into a world that makes my heart pound with a joy that I am afraid of … having and losing. I have incomplete stories that need attention, nurturing and a decision on a conclusion. I just need to find the strength to feel the pain of my own fiction.